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SEVEN LECTURES 



osr 



FEMALE EDUCATION, 



INSCRIBED TO 



l a. in *€)£ 



AT ELM-WOOD, ESSEX COUNTY, VIRGINIA 



BY 



THEIR VERY SINCERE FRIEND, 



JAMES M. GARNETT 



RICHMOND: 

PRINTED BY T. W. WHITE, MARKET-BRIDGE. 

1824. 



LC|4-«H 
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DISTRICT OF VIRGINIA, TO WIT: 

&&&&&&& Be it remembered, That on the twenty-se 
^WWWW^m yenth day of Julyj in the forty-ninth year of 
^ L S ^ the Independence of the United States of Ame- 
# # rica, Thomas W. Wuite, of the said district, 

####### hath deposited in this office, the title of a book, 
the right whereof lie claims as proprietor, in the words follow- 
ing, to wit : 

« Seven Lectures on Female Education, inscribed to Mrs. Gametics 
Pupils, at Elm-Wood, Essex County, Virginia ; by their very sincere 
friend, Jakes M. Garnett." 

In conformity to the act of the Congress of the United States, en- 
titled, " An act for the encouragement of learning, by securing the 
copies of maps, charts, and books, to the authors and proprietors 
of such copies, durincr the times therein mentioned." 

■' Vi ' * R'D. JEFFRIES, 

Clerk of the District of Virginia. 

By Transfer 

0. C. Public Library 



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MAY « 1919 



WASH * T OK>3, - P. CX 




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SEP 3 01903 



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An anxious desire, my young freinds, to aid your 
own exertions, while your education is confided to our 
care, in the acquisition of useful knowledge, and to 
supply your minds with lasting topicks for future im- 
provement, after we shall all be separated, — perhaps 
never to meet again, — has induced me to undertake a 
course of lectures on Female Education. One of these 
1 propose to deliver once a quarter, should the present 
lecture appear to produce the effect, which for your 
sakes, 1 most earnestly hope it may. Let me, there- 
fore, solicit your undivided attention for the very short 
time during which I shall address you, on subjects no 
less momentous than the happiness of your temporal 
and eternal existence. * 

Be not startled, my youthful auditors, at the sombre 
colouring of these preliminary remarks. The princi- 
pal topicks on which I design to comment, are too 
deeply interesting both to your present and future wel- 
fare to be lightly treated ; nor could 1 begin their dis- 
cussion without the most serious impressions, any more 
than I could smile were I to see you on the verge of 
ruin, in fact, 1 have known so many young persons 

of each sex who have blasted their hopes, their health, 
1 



6 

their fortunes and their felicity, by disregarding the 
proper means to promote them ; that 1 can feel no 
other sentiment than one of solemn and deep anxiety, 
when I address myself on such themes to the children 
of our temporary adoption — for such in fact you all 
are,— at least so long as you remain under our care. 
Again then, I must earnestly beseech you, by every 
aspiration of laudable ambition for future excellence ; 
by all the tender ties which connect you with society ; 
and by your dearest hopes in regard both to this world 
and the next, that you will most seriously and delibe- 
rately reflect upon every thing which I may say on the 
following all important subjects : — 

The moral and religious' obligations to improve 
your time as much as practicable. 

The best means of improvement. 

Temper and deportment. 

Foibles, faults and vices. 

Manners, accomplishments, fashions and conversa- 
tion. 

Associates, friends and connexions. 

Each of these heads in their turn shall be the sub- 
ject of a separate lecture; and altho' J can neither 



urge them with all the force which they deserve ; nor 
adorn them with such charms of composition as some 
could bestow, they will possess at least one recommen- 
dation to your notice, which 1 trust will secure a pa- 
tient and favourable reception. This is neither more 
nor less, than that solicitude for your happiness, both 
here and hereafter, which prompts me to the under- 
taking. I shall now proceed to illustrate and enforce 
as well as I can the subject of the present lecture, 
which is " the moral and religious obligation to im- 
prove your time as much as practicable." 

Happiness is the universal aim of mankind; and 
however we may differ as to the means of its attain- 
ment, all agree in believing it to be deducible from 
the pleasures of sense and intellect, combined in vari- 
ous proportions and enjoyed under more or less re- 
straint. As this evidently appears to be the great pur- 
pose for which we were created in reference to this 
life, it irresistibly follows, that both morality and re- 
ligion concur in placing us under indispensable obli- 
gations to avoid every thing which can mar, and to 
seek all things which can promote and secure this tem- 
poral object of our being. But here our difficulties 
commence. For although all will tell you, that our 
senses were given to be used, — our intellect to be ex- 
ercised ; yet some will say that the latter is only de- 
signed to be caterer for the former; while others will 
almost forbid you the entire use of all these faculties. 
In regard to our intellect, there are men who will cau- 



8 

lion you against too constant an application of it's 
powers, lest they be worn out ; while others will tell 
you, that not a moment should be lost (as they call it) 
from mental pursuits. Some will have us draw ot 
these two sources of happiness, altogether for selfish 
purposes, at the same time, that others will say, we 
must live for mankind, not for ourselves. That all 
those who seek the chief temporal good by such means 
must be wrong, J think it not very difficult to prove. 
The truth is, that the cases supposed, are all extremes; 
and the middle course in these, as in most other mat- 
ters, is the true one. That the mere sensualist cannot 
be right, requires but little argument to show. His 
happiness hangs by an hair. Mis passions continually 
stimulate him to unlimited indulgence; while he is un- 
der no restraining power of self-conlroul to keep alive 
the power of enjoyment. And this unlimited indul- 
gence, as constantly and as certainly tends by every 
act to destroy his health — the sole and most precari- 
ous dependence of this wretched and brutal being, for 
those gratifications of which, at best, he is capable in 
a far inferior degree to the beasts that perish : since 
they in their natural state never so cloy their appetites 
by excess, as prematurely to wear out the powers 
which nature has given them. That the solitary re- 
cluse who foolishly denies himself every thing which 
the generality of mankind denominate pleasure, for 
the sake of devoting himself to endless study, cannot 
be much nearer the truth — a few remarks will suffice 
to prove. Uis health, although not as much exposed 



as that of (ho sensualist, is .(ill in Continual danger 04 

irreparable injury ; his seclusion from society renders 
him cynical and selfish, and all hii knowledge, unleti 

if he used for the general good ai well as his own gra- 
tification) is like the unprofitable servant's talent, bu- 
ried in the ground ; and doubtless will equally incur 

(he curse of an offended God. The two foregoing 

character! manifestly can never he happy \ nor arc 

they ever likely to find many imitators among your 
sex. Still as then; have heen some instances of ladies 
who devoted themselves to hooks, to (he entire neg- 
lect of every thing else, and of others who, for the 
s;ike of luxurious living, would risk the loss of health, 
fortune, and life itself, it may nol he entirely without 
it's use to hold up all such, as objects of your avoi- 
dance. The first are eternal subject:-: Of well-merited 
ridicule with both sexes ; while the last excite no other 
lentiflEientfj than disgust and COniempt. Neither can 
have much chance of any real enjoyment ; nor are 

those much nearer the mark, who, although acknow- 
ledging the necessity both of sense and intellect to hu- 
man happiness, would yet live either entirely lor them- 
elves, or only for others. Tin; truth is, W6 must live 
fir both, if we would fulfil our duties J and these re- 
quire that we should always endeavour to promote the 
good Of others, at the same time thai we lake care of 
our own. Have we any doubts in rrgard to the meani 
pf attaining these objects, let Ul Appeal <»n ivtvy 

practicable occasion to that Heavenly Guide, --our 

Itcason,— and we shall rarely be at a low how to ucf 
I* 



10 

This would soon satisfy us, that our senses were de- 
signed by a beneficent God, in the fulness of his wis- 
dom and goodness, to direct us instinctively, as it 
were, in the choice of such things as will contribute 
to supply our bodily wants ; — to gratify the tastes pe- 
culiar to each sense, under such salutary restraints as 
are c* ulated to prolong our power of enjoyment 
fro v ' V n se sources, and to guard us against external 
ana oodily injury. The same divine monitor enables 
us 'o comprehend the true uses also of the various fa- 
culties of the mind; which to be brought to their full 
vigour, and retained therein, require as constant ex- 
ercise, as is compatible with health ; — this being es- 
sential to sanity of mind, as well as body. It is by 
such combined views as the foregoing, of our animal 
and rational natures, that we arrive at a knowledge of 
the temporal purposes for which the great first cause — 
a God of infinite power, wisdom and goodness, hath 
created mankind. And having seen how wisely, as 
well as mercifully he has contrived, that the most di- 
rect road to happiness in this world, is thro' a strict 
compliance with all our moral obligations — among 
the most important of which, are temperance both of 
body and mind, industry in acquiring and usefully 
employing knowledge, economy of time and posses- 
sionSj philanthropy and beneficence ; we are led by 
easy and obvious steps to the belief, even indepen- 
dent of the direct evidence of Holy Writ, that our si- 
tuation in the world to come, will entirely depend 
upon the extent of this compliance. But when we 



It 

open that best gift of our Father and God — the Holy 
Scriptures themselves, — this belief is confirmed beyond 
the possibility of doubt, by a revelation as clear as 
the light of day, where, in addition to the sanctions of 
reason and experience, every neglect of duty is de- 
nounced under the most awful and appalling respon- 
sibilities; and every fulfilment thereof, solicited and 
encouraged by promises of " that peace in this world, 
which passeth all understanding ;" and of that unut- 
terable bliss in the next, which " it is not in the heart 
of man to conceive." How is it possible then, my 
young friends, that any of us can neglect " so great 
salvation f" How fatal is the desperate error of ima- 
gining that any indulgence whatever, either of body 
or mind, taken at the expense of virtue and wisdom, 
can procure us happiness, — even in this very brief 
state of existence ? These heaven-bestowed guardians 
of our temporal and eternal welfare, can never be of- 
fended with impunity ; nor do we ever fail sooner or 
later to suffer some punishment proportioned to every 
transgression against their unerring dictates. If we 
disobey them in the slightest particular, some incon- 
venience is almost sure to follow; and rebellion 
against them in more important matters, rarely escapes 
from some one or other of the following evils : — dis- 
gust and loathing at ourselves, and the objects of our 
short-lived gratifications ; remorse, contempt from the 
world, poverty, disease and death. Of the many 
millions of human beings who have acted upon this 
most delusive plau of unrestrained indulgence, we 



12 

have no historical record of a single individual who 
has not utterly failed in his calculation. None have 
escaped severe disappointment in seeking happiness 
from such a source ; whilst thousands have met misery 
and ruin in all their most aggravated forms. God for- 
bid, my young friends, that any such dreadful cala- 
mity should ever befal you; but the fate which has af- 
flicted millions of our fellow mortals, is never so re- 
mote that any can claim entire exemption from its dan- 
ger. The road of error, in morals and religion, has 
(ew — very few stopping places ; and the moment you 
voluntarily step into it, you place yourselves on the 
side of a slippery precipice, and every inch that you 
slide down increases your liability to move with accel- 
erated velocity ; until at last you are irreclaimably lost 
in the bottomless gulpli of eternal perdition. This 
awful fact of the perpetually augmenting influence 
which vicious habits acquire over us, is farther con- 
firmed by the experience of every one now living, be- 
fore he has passed through half the very short term 
which heaven has allotted him. Yet still the infatua- 
tion and madness of indulging in them, rage as if all 
the moral and religious light in the world, had been 
extinguished by a new revelation from the spirit of 
evil, assuring us that we alone could safely do what no 
other human being ever had done. Thrs is the more 
wonderful, seeing that in most temporal matters of or- 
dinary and daily concern, we pursue the course which 
prudence and common sense prescribe. Who, for ex- 
ample, is there among us, who buys only two yards 




18 



of clotli for a dress that requires six ; or purchases one 
suit of clothes for u term of years, knowing that not. 
less than half a dozen will sufficed Who will take a 
journey of several days, and neglect to provide when 
he can all which he believes will he wanting while he 
is goner' Or what person can be found so inconside- 
rate, that in building a house, fails to aim at making 
it such as will enable him, not only to enjoy the plea- 
ures of spring and summer; but to guard also against 
the storms and rigours of autumn and whiter? In all 
these cases we invariably calculate in such away as to 
secure — at least so far as human foresight can secure, — 
the requisites for comfortable subsistence during the 
entire term for which we expect to want them : — iu 
hhort, we wisely adapt the means to the end. Yet in 
providing that u breast-plate of faith and armour of 
righteousness," which are to constitute our clothing 
lor time and eternity; — in getting ready for that jour- 
ney which W€ must all inevitably take, to the regions 
of everlasting bliss or misery ; we proceed as if it 
were the easy, joyous excursion of a single, delightful 
day. And in our preparation for " that habitation 
not made with bauds, eternal in the heavens," we act 
with the thoughtless folly of so many children build- 
ing a house of cards which every breeze stronger than 
the gentlest zephyr will instantly blow down. 

The most fortunate among us has no right to calcu* 
late on palling through life, as if it were one continu- 
ed spring of blossoms and verdure, or one uniuter- 



14 

rupted summer of genial showers, serene skies, am 
delicious fruits. For although the vernal hours of 
youthful innocence and health may glide away with a 
few, in continual gaiety of heart; — though the season 
o( their maturity may be passed in almost constant 
enjoyment, such instances so rarely occur, that it 
would be madness in any one to anticipate for him- 
self a similar fate. With an immense majority of 
mankind, even the halcyon period of youth and ma- 
turity, is not exempt from numerous afflictions. And 
by every one who lives beyond it, the gloomy autumn 
and winter of old age, with all their inconveniences, 
privations and sorrows, must unavoidably be encoun- 
tered. The hours of irksome solitude, of disappoint- 
ed hopes and tormenting fears; of sickness, pain and 
anguish, or some other adversity, must come for each, 
in a greater or less degree. The iron hand of poverty 
may reach even those who, at present, appear far be- 
yond its reach : — disease and death may bereave us of 
the dearest objects of our affection : — and the misery 
and anguish of such visitations may crush us to the 
earth. Alas! my young friends, what then will be- 
come of the mind destitute of all those consolatory 
resources, which literature, science and Christianity 
supply: — and which the God of all mercy and love 
hath taught those who possess them, so to use, as to 
mitigate at least, if not to cure, whatever we may be 
called upon to suffer, even from the greatest calami- 
ties of this transitory life ? These are considerations 
that I would have daily present to your minds ; aud I 



15 

most earnestly entreat you for your own, as well as for 
the sake of all whom you love in this world, never to 
forget them. Do not avoid them, as sources of pain; 
for although they may prove so at first for a short 
lime, yet if you will only cultivate them as an intel- 
lectual habit, such will be the salutary influence which 
they will exercise over your whole soul, that lasting 
serenity and peace of mind, (such as the world can 
neither give nor takeaway,) if not great positive hap- 
piness, will certainly be the result. Take care also, 
ever to remember that although youth is the season of 
enjoyment, it is also the season for preparation to 
guard against suffering, and to extend our pleasures 
from temporal to eternal concerns. Recollect too, that 
it is a season which if once lost to all those great and 
noble purposes for which it was most mercifully given, 
is gone forever: since the pliancy, elasticity and vi- 
gour of mind requisite to the acquirement of such 
mental habits as are necessary to carry us well thro' 
life, can no more be commanded by mature years and 
old age ; than that vigour, elasticity, and pliancy of 
body and limbs which are indispensable to the success- 
ful performance of great feats of dexterity, activity 
and strength. There is a still farther aggravation at- 
tendant upon our abuse of this evanescent season for 
improvement. The bitter remorse always superin- 
duced by such abuse, upon minds not totally depraved, 
must ever greatly overbalance any pleasure which we 
can possibly enjoy from neglecting this most precious 
and irreclaimable opportunity. 



16 

When my mind is occupied (as it often is,) by such 
reflections, I can seldom contemplate the countenances 
of the young, thoughtless, gay people whom I fre- 
quently see, without being driven to calculate their 
individual chances for future happiness ; and rarely in- 
deed, do my anticipations solace me with the prospect 
of much enjoyment for those who arrive at maturity, 
unprepared as too many of them appear to be, for en- 
countering the innumerable trials which they must ne- 
cessarily undergo. The maladies almost inseparable 
from our mortal existence ; — the losses and crosses of 
adverse fortune ; the indescribable agony of separa- 
tion by death from all they hold dear on earth ; toge- 
ther with " the thousand other ills that flesh is heir to," 
all rise in heart-sickening perspective, and almost an- 
nihilate the hope that any will attain the portion of fe- 
licity which 1 would most willingly secure for all, if 
continued prayers offered up to the throne of grace in 
their behalf, could have any avail. On such occa- 
sions 1 can hardly forbear to cry out — Oh ! beware, 
my young friends, beware 1 beseech you, before it be 
too late, not for a moment to neglect any of the means 
which an all merciful God so constantly offers you of 
avoiding in many cases, and mitigating in all, the 
various evils and sufferings which threaten your peace 
in the present life, and impede your course to the man- 
sions of eternal rest in the life to come. These means, 
thank Heaven, are in reach of us all, and require no 
extraordinary power either of body or mind to use 
them as our Creator designed we should ; for the pos- 



sessor of one talent has the same promises of happi 
ness with him to whom ten talents have been given : 
and from neither has more been demanded than he 
was able to perform. We have only to walk steadily 
in the path of duty, wherever our lot may be cast, to 
achieve all that we are asked to do ; and this duty is 
comprised in the fulfilment of our moral and religious 
obligations. 

Let me not, however, close this address without 
presenting you with a picture of life less discouraging 
and revolting, than the preceding ; — a picture too, 
which all of you most probably may realize, only by 
persevering to the end in a course of intellectual im- 
provement, guided and governed by a sense of duty to 
yourselves, to others, and to your God. Useful oc- 
cupation both of body and mind, continually prompted 
by the foregoing great, leading motives of moral and 
religious obligation, is the true secret of human hap- 
piness ; and the being who possesses it, may reason- 
ably count upon attaining as much felicity, as gene- 
rally falls to the lot of mortality. By this course, 
from which none are excluded, you may actually en- 
joy, even the pleasures of sense, (as far as they are 
allowable) infinitely more than those who act upon 
any other principles. By this course it is, that you 
may open for yourselves all those exhaustless trea- 
sures of knowledge that furnish the proper subjects 
upon which to exercise literary taste, and scientifick 
talent. By this course alone can you render yourselves 
2 



18 

objects of iove, admiration, and esteem to the wise 
and the good throughout the whole circle of your ac- 
quaintance. By this course only, can you ever ex 
pect to be qualified for leading others, in whose wel- 
fare you may feel the deepest of all earthly interests, 
along the same delightful paths of knowledge and 
virtue, which you have endeavoured to tread your- 
selves. By this course alone, can you possibly repav 
the great debt of gratitude due to those, who, with un 
ceasing solicitude, have watched over your infant 
years ; — have cherished you with unabated affection as 
you advanced in life; — and have spared neither pains 
nor expense in your education at maturer age. And 
finally, by this course, and none other, can you ever 
hope, on returning to the bosom of your families, after 
having successfully finished your studies, to enjoy 
the unutterable extacy of being received by those 
whom you most love and revere, with the silent tears 
of pious joy at finding you all that their hearts could 
wish, or fondest expectations anticipate. Yours then 
may be the endearing, heaven-directed occupation of 
smoothing the pillow of declining age; of cheering 
continually the remaining hours of those to whom you 
are bound by all the ties of consanguinity and affec- 
tion ; and of meriting — as well as receiving their dy- 
ing benedictions,— should Providence ordain that you 
must survive them. 



&U£'$tfW!U* 11 



% 



IN my first Lecture, I endeavoured to convince you 
of the moral and religious obligations to improve your 
time as much as practicable. How far 1 succeeded, 
must be left to yourselves to determine. The subject 
of the present address is — the best means of Improve- 
ment: and your future destiny will most essentially 
depend upon the use which you make of them, while 
the sunshine of youth, enables you to labour for their 
acquirement, before the night of old age cometh, when 
no man can work. Would you have that destiny a 
wuy strewed over with flowers; would you colour the 
picture of your subsequent life with all the lovely 
tints which virtue and knowledge can bestow ; — in 
short, would you be happy both here and hereafter ; 
then treasure these means of improvement in your 
heart, as you would its vital blood ; make them ihe 
constant rules of your conduct; the standard by which 
you estimate the value of every object of human pur- 
suit ; and the faithful guides to point your way to the 
love and affection of the wise and the good ; to the 
admiration and delight of all with whom you may be 
connected by the nearest and dearest of all human ties. 
If, however, you should have no such laudable ambi 
tion, — which God forbid : — if your wishes lead you 



20 

to a lite of utter idleness ; — of selfish and sensual gra- 
tifications ; — of frivolous amusements and rain osten- 
tation ; you have only to neglect these means, and in 
all probability, you may for a time, fully succeed in 
your objects. But what will be the consequence? A 
possibility of making yourselves the gaudy butterflies 
of a day's chase to the frothy coxcombs and profli- 
gates of our sex ; — with the certainty — should you 
survive the rapidly evanescent period of youth, that 
you will become the caterpillars of avoidance for 
weeks, months and years, to all whose regard and es- 
teem is worth seeking. You may, it is true, be still 
parts — but little better than nuisances in that most en- 
dearing union of interests and affections — called a fa" 
mily. As children, you will be of no use to your parents; 
as sisters, your fate will be merely — not to be disliked, 
and as wives, you can have no hope nor right to oc- 
cupy a higher station, than possibly to be considered 
convenient articles towards house-keeping. But man's 
most esteemed participators in prosperity ; his best 
comforters under all the afflictions of adversity ; and 
his most beloved friends in every situation, must be 
women of quite a different order. They must have 
cultivated understandings, great self-controul, kind 
and affectionate dispositions, and a constant, opera- 
tive conviction of the necessity under which they live, 
faithfully to perform all their moral and religious ob- 
ligations. I hope you will not understand me as pre- 
dicting an old age of neglect and contempt to all who 
do not become what might be called learned ladies 



21 

Such attainments but very few can acquire, owing to 
the very short period allotted in our state of society 
to female education. But that species of learning 
which is of infinitely more value to both sexes, than 
any other, is within reach of you all. It is simply to 
know your various duties; and to feel and to cherish 
continually, the proper motives to practice them. 
Many things, however, which belong to polite educa- 
tion, are also readily attainable : and these are not to 
be neglected without incurring the hazard above re- 
presented. You, (if any such now hear me,) who ra- 
ther than study while young, chuse in case of old age 
to play the part of the bird which, in mockery, has 
been called the bird of wisdom — vastly solemn, and 
marvellously sapient in your Own conceit, but exceed- 
ingly silly and ridiculous in the eyes of every body 
else ; may abuse, as much as you please, all the oppor- 
tunities for improvement afforded by the kindness and 
affection of your parents ; — without doubt, you will 
obtain your reward in securing the ridicule and avoid- 
ance which your own idleness will have so inconside- 
rately, but justly merited. But to you, who aspire to 
better things, (as I most fervently hope that all do,)— 
to you who ardently desire, when time shall be no 
more, to render back to your Father.and God, the 
rational and immortal souls which he has given you, 
adorned with all the virtue and knowledge of which 
they are susceptible ; — to you who have these elevated, 
and truly glorious views, I need only say — enter, my 
excellent young friends^ without reluctance, or appre- 
2* 



22 






hension, the path of science, however rugged it may 
at first appear. The fair and fragrant blossoms of 
promise will soon court your acceptance on every 
side; and ere long its delicious fruits will recompense 
all your toil. 

Before I commence the particular subject of the 
present Lecture, I would most earnestly urge you, se- 
riously to consider a few general remarks on the means 
by which you yourselves may certainly discover, whe- 
ther any thing which 1 may recommend, is likely to 
render you any service. In the course of these ad- 
dresses, I shall have frequent occasion to hold up many 
qualities and practices for your imitation ; and not a 
few for your avoidance. The strictest self-examina- 
tion will be your duty in both cases ; and exactly as 
you condemn or acquit yourselves without reference to 
others, in either instance, will be the benefit you will 
derive from any warnings, admonitions, or recom- 
mendations which I may offer. If, — when j'ou hear 
any habit or quality mentioned as a fit subject for pity, 
ridicule, or odium, you find yourselves immediately 
looking round among your acquaintance and compa- 
nions to see who most resembles the picture ; instead 
of rigorously demanding of your own heart ; — can 
this be my likeness ? your listening to such lectures 
will be worse than useless : for it will only sharpen 
your appetite for censure, and invigorate your malice; 
instead of quickening your powers of self-detection, 
and strengthening your resolution of amendment. On 



23 

the contrary, — when talent, or wisdom, or virtue con- 
stitute the theme of applause ; if you find your eyes 
immediately ogleing yourselves in search of food for 
your pride, vanity, and egotism, instead of searching 
first for the resemblances among your associates and 
friends, — not that you may envy, but imitate them, your 
immediate prayer to God should be : — "Father of mer- 
cies ! cleanse thou me from secret faults." Without a 
sufficient degree of humility to guard us against self- 
conceit ; and at the same time to render us more ob- 
servant of our own, than of other people's faults ; no 
rules whatever for improvement, can do us much 
good. But confidently hoping that you will each ap- 
ply these rules as you ought, — that is, as tests for 
yourselves, rather than for your companions, I shall 
proceed to state and explain them. 

The first means of improvement which I shall re^- 
commend for your practice, is one upon which all the 
rest materially depend. It is briefly this : — " do with 
all your ability whatever you have to do." And the 
second is like unto it : — " never put off until to-mor- 
row, what you ought to do to-day." I will not go so 
far as to say, that " upon these two hang all the Law 
and the Prophets ;" but I feel fully warranted in as- 
serting, that every person's progress both in virtue 
and knowledge, will be precisely in proportion to his 
neglect or observance of these two cardinal maxims. 
In fact, nothing either in art or science, can be effec- 
tually learned, or well executed without them. When 



24 

these rules are faithfully observed, every step that we 
take towards the temple of knowledge is secure against 
retrogression. We appear, perhaps, to advance more 
slowly, than those giddy, volatile travellers, who are 
for going on at a hop, skip, and jump ; but our pro- 
gress is as certain as the light of day. And the most 
encouraging part of the business is, that our motion 
is continually and geometrically accelerated ; whereas 
the movements of those who follow any other method 
are constantly more and more retarded by fits of child' 
ish impatience at their own silly neglect of all the in- 
termediate steps in improvement ; by the real difficul- 
ties of acquiring any art or science, without a tho- 
rough knowledge of its rudiments; and by seeing 
others who started at the same time with themselves, 
for the same goal, almost within reach of it, while 
they appear either to stand still, or really to be going 
backwards. The inevitable consequence of this state 
of things is, an almost invincible reluctance to do 
whatever is attempted ; or utter despair of doing any 
thing. We, then, according to the common practice 
of shifting the blame from our own shoulders, find 
fault with our capacities, when we should censure our 
laziness; or perhaps seek consolation in condemning 
the methods of our teachers, instead of taking shame 
to ourselves for neglecting to follow them. 

Another most essential means of improvement is, to 
believe yourselves capable, by perseverance and indus- 
try, of learning whatever thousands and millions have 



25 

learned before you. Too many young persons are 
prone to conclude upon even the slightest puzzle in 
their studies, that they are incapable of unravelling it. 
Instead of endeavouring to disentangle it by patient 
application, as they may have seen their mothers do 
by a skein of rumpled thread which at first appeared 
inextricable, they are for pulling and tearing away in 
haste to be done, or throwing it into the fire, as not 
worth the labour, instead of adopting for their con» 
stant motto-*'* Juvat trascendere montes," — " it de- 
lights me to surmount difficulties;" they faint, or fall 
into a fit of the sullens at the very bottom of the Hill 
of Science, rather than make the smallest effort to as- 
cend it, Should the teacher of any such scholar ask 
at any time, after hours of patient waiting ;—" why 
have you not learned your lesson yet f " The usual an- 
swer uttered in the treble key of a pouting cry, is in 
language something like the following :— " Indeed, in- 
deed, nf>w, Sir or Madam, I have tried, and tried, and 
can't learn it. This plaguy thing is too hard — pray let 
me try something else:" When probably the whole trial 
has consisted in first taking a cursory look, and then 
holding the book the rest of the time, apparently pe- 
rusing it, but in fact not studying a single word that 
it contains, and only gazing at the letters as so many 
unintelligible hieroglyphicks cut upon paper for no 
other purpose but to plague all such little girls as 
greatly prefer play to study. To labour more or less, 
is the lot of the whole human race ; it is the eternal 
law of our nature ; and none have the smallest rigb« 



26 

to expect that they can gain either learning or wisdoiu 
without paying a portion of this tax for it. Would 
you therefore be either wise or learned, you must be 
content to encounter some toil for such an inestimable 
blessing. But plain, common sense, diligent appli- 
cation, and patient study are all the weapons you will 
really need for combating — aye, and conquering too, 
all the bug-bear books that will ever be put into youv 
hands* 

Another means of improvement, scarce less neces- 
sary than those already mentioned, is never to make 
invidious or discouraging comparisons between your 
own progress, and that of others. By the first, you 
will lose in envy infinitely more than you can gain in 
knowledge,— -to say nothing of the great effect which 
the perception or conceit of your being a little more 
advanced than your associates, will have in relaxing 
your own exertions. And by the last, your improve- 
ment may not only appear less than it really is ; but 
you may ascribe your want of equal information to 
inferior capacity, when it has really proceeded from 
the want of equal diligence. The true way is, to com- 
pare your own progress with itself. In other words, 
contrast from time to time, your present with your 
past acquirements; and if you find upon an impartial 
examination that you have advanced, and feel a strong 
desire still to go on, you need never despair of suc- 
cess. The calumniators of your sex have so long, 
and so often imputed to you, fickleness, petulance, 



27 

want of perseverance, and incapacity for close study 
and scientific acquirement, as peculiar characteristicks, 
that some ladies seem actually to have been persuaded 
the imputation was true. Indeed, not a few have gone 
still farther, and if we are to judge by their practice, 
not only take no pains to disprove the slander, but 
would lead us to believe, that they even deemed these 
qualities feminine prettinesses and graces. But you 
may rest well assured, my young friends, that there 
is no imaginable reason for thinking any of those 
mental qualifications which are most praise-worthy in 
our sex, either censurable, or unattainable in yours. 
The divine author of our being, can never have de- 
signed, that faults in one sex, should be virtues in the 
other ; nor that mental perfection in man, should be 
mental imperfection in woman. To learn and to teach; 
to suffer calamity and relieve distress; — to endure 
misery or enjoy happiness, is equally the lot and the 
privilege of both. Courage to meet danger, fortitude 
to suffer pain, temperance in prosperity, resignation 
in adversity, diligent application in acquiring useful 
information, and perseverance in duty, is neither less 
necessary, nor more commendable in the one, than in 
tiie other. Away then, — for ever away with all such 
silly affectation of qualities or practices as you would 
justly ridicule and despise in our sex, under the utterly 
false notion, that they are at least allowable, if not re- 
ally attractive in yours. Rely upon it that the senti- 
ments and habits which would make a foolish and con- 
temptible man> can never make a wise and amiable 



28 

woman. You might as well cultivate wens, carbun- 
cles and warts for beauty-spots in your faces, as quali- 
ties, which in fact would be deformities in your mind. 
No lady would ever think, for a moment, of doing the 
first; — why then, should they ever be guilty of the last, 
which is not only equally absurd, but actually wicked. 
Although some of these remarks would be more appro- 
priate when lecturing upon temper; yet they are so 
closely connected with the means of improvement in 
literature and science, that I could not altogether omit 
them here. 

The last Rule which I will give you, is to suffer no- 
thing to divert or withdraw your attention from the 
immediate object of investigation, during the time 
which you are required to devote to it. A great mas- 
ter of eloquence being once asked, what were the three 
requisites to constitute an orator, replied : — " Action, 
action, action ;" and were a similar question propound- 
ed in regard to the acquisition of useful knowledge, 
we might with equal truth, answer : " Patient appli- 
cation, — patient application, — patient application :" 
for in the constant exercise of this consists the whole 
secret. The fable of the tortoise and his travelling 
companions, is a most happy illustration of this fact ; 
for he arrived first at the place of destination, although 
incomparably less qualified to all appearance for the 
undertaking, than either of the party. Never intermit, 
therefore, your exertions to conquer any apparent dif- 
ficulty which your lessons for the time being, may 



29- 

present ; and a degree of success sufficiently encou- 
raging to enable you to go on* prosperously, will as- 
suredly follow. Learn to rely on your own powers, 
and they will not only seldom fail you, but they will 
strengthen with every fresh exertion. One lesson got 
for yourselves and by yourselves, is worth forty which 
other people get for you. Indeed, no information ob- 
tained in the latter mode is worth much more, than the 
knowledge of a parrot. You can only repeat, with- 
out understanding, what has been told to you; and so 
can poor Poll. The petted, feathered prater, can look 
full as wise too, as the little Miss who is content to 
learn in no better way, than repeating by rote what 
she has heard others utter. Thus equipped for show, 
and a poor show indeed will it be, the most she can 
hope is, to pass muster among the equally vain pre- 
tenders to literary acquirement ; but among men and 
women of really cultivated understanding, the least 
mortification which can happen to her, is to become 
the object of their continual pity and commiseration. 

I will now recapitulate the foregoing Maxims in the 
form of mandatory precepts, and conclude. 

Do whatever you have to do, with all your might. 

Never put off until to-morrow, what you ought to 
do to-day. 

Believe yourselves capable by perseverance and in- 



30 



dustry of learning whatever thousands and millions 
have learned before vou. 

Never make invidious, or discouraging comparisons 
between your own progress and that of others. 

Suffer nothing to divert or withdraw your attention 
from the immediate object of investigation, during 
the time which you are expected to devote to it. 

If you will heartily adopt, and faithfully practice 
these Rules, you may all be morally sure of making 
very considerable improvements, both in knowledge 
and virtue. All cannot expect to make them in equal 
degree, any more, than they could calculate on mak- 
ing the features of their faces alike. But with equal 
opportunities, and equal diligence, there is not one 
who now hears me, but may certainly attain sufficient 
proficiency in all the most useful, and in some of the 
most ornamental branches of Education, ampty to re- 
ward them for the labour of every hour devoted to the 
all-important object of mental cultivation. 

1 will now conclude in the words of the eloquent 
Alison, than whom no man seems better qualified to 
advise, whether we consider his piety, his sound sense, 
or the admirable and impressive manner in which he 
always addresses himself both to our understandings 
and feelings. In his sermon " on the religious and 
moral kinds of knowledge," he concludes by add res- 



31 

sing to the youthful part of his audience the following 
deeply interesting admonitions : 

" You are called by the providence of God to the 
first rank in the society of men; you are called by the 
same providence to the first duties ; and the voice of 
nature coincides with the voice of the Gospel, in the 
solemn assurance "that of those to whom much is 
given, much also will be required." Do you then 
wish, with the natural generosity of youth, to fulfil in 
after years the duties to which you are called ? Now 
is the time for this sacred preparation. It is noiv, in 
the spring of your days, that you may acquire the 
knowledge, and establish the habits which are to cha- 
racterize your lives; and that you may elevate the 
temper of your minds to the important destiny to 
which the Father of Nature has called you. The 
world with all its honours and all its temptations, will 
very soon be before you; the paths of virtue and of vice 
are equally open to receive you ; and it is the decision 
of your present hours, which must determine your cha- 
racter in time, and your fate in eternity. 

" 1 pray God that you may decide like christians ; — 
that you may take, in early life, " that good part 
which will never be taken from you ;" — and that nei- 
ther the illusions of rank, nor the seductions of wealth, 
may lead you to forget what you owe to yourselves, 
to your country, and to your God. 



* 



OUR present Lecture, my young friends, will be 
on Temper and Deportment, — which, taken in their 
most comprehensive sense, embrace every thing that 
can secure love and esteem in this world, and happi- 
ness in the next. The subject is of the deepest ima- 
ginable interest to us all. Let me, therefore, earnestly 
entreat you to givg^pio your onty&gand serious atten- 
tion, while Lf&£dfa\fwr to' w^^jSfe^of the many 
€onsideraty^K§ NvhicEBGSI53B^comrnCTrak it to your 

constant regard. 5E 1 P ( 8'0^1^©8 an y ^flS t0 y our 
wish to hea»what I may have to say on^thjf foregoing 
topicks, 1 wSiicij^tej|j(ijff(y^^ jnSjgujjPine possibili- 
ty that the spiritsOT^ll wham yoirtnost value, either 
among the living or the dead, may at this moment be 
listening with indescribable solicitude to hear whether 
the individual who now addresses you, may utter any 
thing calculated to make an impression so lasting on 
your hearts, as to show itself hereafter, continually 
in your lives. 

Temper and Deportment are the chief ingredients 

of what is called — character. And so intimately are 

they blended together, that it is not always easy to 

distinguish which contributes most to our good or ill 

3* 



34 






fame. It may, however, be said, that Temper is in 
general the source of our motives; — Deportment the 
mode of performing those actions which flow from 
them. Temper supplies colouring for the picture of 
our lives; — Deportment puts it on. The first, accord- 
ing as it proves good or bad, renders us objects of es- 
teem or aversion to mankind; of continual peace, or 
feverish disquietude to ourselves ; and of approval or 
condemnation to the God who made us. While the 
last forms either the greatest charm and attraction in 
all polished, virtuous society, or its bitterest and most 
disgusting annoyance. So powerful an influence in- 
deed, do their combined agencies exercise over the 
whole human race, that they may truly be said to be 
almost despotic. For when both can be . brought to 
bear fully, with all their energies in complete opera- 
tion, they- act like a spell of enchantment. They 
conquer dislike, subdue obstinacy, appease wrath, 
soothe affliction, enhance joy, and not {infrequently 
persuade even our boasted reason in opposition to it- 
self. There is scarcely an action of our lives with 
which Temper, or Deportment, separately or united, 
lias not some concern. Nor do we ever take any part 
in the daily intercourse of society, without manifest- 
ing something, either in feeling or manner, that dis- 
closes the habitual dispositions of oar hearts, — the pre- 
vailing characteristicks of our actions. Of what pre- 
eminent importance then, is it to us all, to cultivate 
such deportment and temper only, as will render this 
disclosure a source of allowable self-esteem, rather 



^5 

than of mortification, shame, and bitter self-re- 
proach ! 

The great, leading distinctions between good and bad 
Temper, and good and bad Deportment, are so obvious, 
that much need not be said about them. But there are 
innumerable little traits and shades of difference, that 
although not easily distinguishable, are yet so fre- 
quently influencing the opinions which others form of 
us, as to require a minute examination. A boisterous, 
turbulent, quarrelsome, malignant temper is so strongly 
marked, and causes so much mischief in the world, 
that all who labour under so deplorable a misfortune., 
must be nearly as conscious of the fact, as those who 
suffer from its effects. Some dread, others fear, many 
despise, not a few will punish, and all will avoid such 
characters. In the midst of society they stand nearly 
as much alone, as in a wilderness. They can excite 
neither love, esteem, nor sympathy; no heart is open 
to them ; cheerless and forlorn must be the whole tenor 
of their existence ; and they are almost as much ex- 
cluded from all the rational pleasures, the refined en- 
joyments, and endearing ties of social life, as if they 
were ferocious beasts of the forest, rather than human 
beings. Like Cain, they have a mark set upon 
them, — or more correctly speaking, they have set it 
on themselves, which even little children can under- 
stand ; and " avoid ye, avoid ye," seems to be so le- 
gibly written on their very forehead, that he who 
runs may read. Do you fear (as I fervently hope and 



36 

believe that you do,) to resemble such daemons in hu- 
man shape, let me implore you, my young friends, 
continually to guard your hearts against the most 
distant approach of any of those baneful passions 
whose effects I have endeavoured to depict. They are 
fraught with deadly poison ; and to permit them, even 
in the slightest degree to influence your actions, may 
give them a power over you which you can never after 
subdue. An undeniable proof of the universal dread 
and aversion inspired by a contentious, scolding, ma- 
licious, violent tempered woman, from the earliest ages 
to the present time, is displayed in the unanimity with 
which wits, satirists, moralists, and divines have al- 
ways acted in denouncing, shaming, ridiculing, and 
exposing her. There is no term of reproach scarcely, 
— no epithet of contemptuous merriment, — no lan- 
guage of odium and scorn, no sentiment of pity, re- 
pugnance and disgust, that has not been uttered either 
in speech or writing about her. 

In short, she is an object either of constant commi- 
seration, or unconquerable dislike to all who know, or 
hear of her truly deplorable disposition. To crown 
the whole, she has been stigmatized from time im- 
memorial, with every kind of nick-name that could 
degrade, vilify, and disgrace her character. Thus, 
Termagant, Tygress, Vixen, Tartar, She-Dragon, 
and Spit-Fire, with many more of the same stamp, 
have so long been appropriated almost exclusively to 
designate her, that they have nearly ceased to have 



37 

any oilier meaning. Nor should any one be at all 
surprised at this, who reflects how much it is in the 
power of one of these she-devils to disturb all social 
intercourse ; to embitter every thing like social enjoy- 
ment ; and to poison effectually the very sources of 
all domestic happiness. Her tongue — if not her hand, 
is against every body ; and it is natural at least, If 
not altogether right, that every one's tongue should 
be against her; for she may truly be called the com- 
mon enemy of all. 

But there is a temper apparently quite the reverse 
of this, which, although not so entirely odious, is 
nearly as much to be dreaded and shunned. It usually 
dresses the countenance in smiles ; and is often con- 
cealed from the individuals themselves, under the spe- 
cious disguise of such an over-weaning interest in the 
aftairs of others, that no time is left for the proper at- 
tention to their own. Home therefore, is the last place 
in the world, where such persons will remain, if they 
can possibly help themselves. In a word, this temper 
is known by the summary title of*' gossipping ;" than 
which there cannot be one more extensive in its opera- 
tion ; more annoying, vexatious, and prolific in petty 
mischief; more corrupting to the hearts of the pos- 
sessors ; nor more productive of all those suspicions, 
jealousies, animosities, disputes and quarrels, which al- 
ways interrupt, and often utterly destroy the peace 
>uid harmony of whole neighbourhoods. Ifyour bit- 

°st enemy could accomplish a wish against your 



38 



comibrt, your characters and your happiness, he could 
not well make a worse one, than that you should all 
become expert and confirmed Gossips. For your 
power and propensity to pursue a course which would 
mar all, would beincreased exactly in proportion to the 
extent of your reception in society; and this would be 
continually extended by the constant accumulation of 
family secrets, private history, and domestic scandal, 
that time and opportunity so copiously supply to those 
who have a genuine taste for collecting. Such mate- 
rials constitute the stock in trade of the true gossip. 
Her standard topicks of conversation, are the blem- 
ishes, faults and vices of her acquaintance, — if these 
are not so public as to deprive the exposure of all air 
of secrecy; but where she designs to treat her audi- 
ence to any thing peculiarly interesting and delightful, 
she serves up the mangled reputation of some indivi- 
dual generally thought exemplary. On such occa- 
sions to betray either pity for the slandered, or dis- 
gust at the slanderer by attempting to vindicate the 
injured party, will generally bring your own charac- 
ter into jeopardy, as soon as your back is turned. As 
the gossip is the cherished inmate of many families, 
and cannot very easily be excluded from any ; there 
is no domestic sanctuary scarcely, but she can pene- 
trate in some mode or other ; no family compact so 
sacred, or free from all possibility of dissolution, that 
she cannot at least shake and weaken, if not utterly 
destroy it. Hence it becomes the more necessary to 
furnish vou with as many means as I can, to enable 



39 

you to detect, either in yourselves or others, not only 
the confirmed habit of gossipping — however glossed 
over ; but also these single acts, which if too often re- 
peated, will certainly produce that habit. This evil 
spirit frequently solicits your confidence by pretending 
to trust you alone with secrets, which she has told in 
the same way to every one who would listen to her. 
To judge of her motives, you have only to ask your- 
selves ; — does any particular intimacy authorize this 
confidential communication ? Have I any great per- 
sonal interest in hearing this affair ? Will it not mate- 
rially injure the individual of whom it is told, if it be 
generally known? Unless you can answer the two 
first in the affirmative, the extent of the injury to be 
done, should always convince you that no good mo- 
tive could possibly prompt the disclosure. Another 
unerring rule by which you may discern the real gos- 
sipping spirit, is the general practice of dwelling more 
upon the defects, faults, and vices of your acquain- 
tance and friends, than on their excellencies and vir- 
tues : particularly where the usual prologue is an ear- 
nest disclaimer of all gratification in such details, ac- 
companied by a self-complacent averment of great 
regret that " such things are ;" — but that the truth 
should be spoken at all times, — even if our dearest 
friends suffer by it. The gossipping spirit is farther 
evinced by selecting as favorite topicks of conversa- 
tion, every little detail in the domestic economy of our 
absent neighbours, and visiting acquaintance ; — infer- 
ring sluttishness or waste from any apparent neg- 



40 






lect, however accidental ; or parsimony and mean 
ness from some scantiness of viands or furniture, 
which, for aught we know, has been unavoidable. In 
short, gossipping may be defined, — a restless spirit oi 
envy, detraction, and censoriousness, always aiming 
to do sure, but secret work ; and never in its proper 
element, except when setting neighbours together by 
the ears ; depreciating the reputation of others ; or 
labouring to elevate its own at other people's expense 
Talking without restraint about every body, and everj r 
thing — although, in itself, nothing more than a proof 
of an idle, ill-regulated mind, indicates a temper that 
is always in danger of degenerating into this vice: — 
for vice 1 must call it, and of a very perilous nature 
too. Against this disposition, as well as against that 
first described, there is no necessity, I trust, to give 
you farther warning. Your own good feelings, your 
own good principles, your own hopes of present, as 
well as future happiness, will prove sufficient, as I 
earnestly hope, to guard you from every danger of 
such deadly infection. May Heaven grant, my young 
friends, that you never may have cause to apply any 
of the foregoing remarks, either to yourselves, or to 
any of your connexions. 

The circumstance of the term "bad temper," being 
generally applied, chiefly to such as display only the 
angry and malignant passions, has occasioned many 
defects of temper, either to be but slightly condemned, 
or altogether disregarded. Among these, the disposi- 



41 

tion to laugh at, to vex, and to teaze our companions 
and acquaintance ; to annoy them by practical jests ; 
or in some apparently good-humoured way to wound 
their feelings, stands conspicuous for its frequency. 
And it is the more to be deprecated, because it is gen- 
erally recommended to the young and the thought- 
less, by the air of gay wit, and jocose sprightliness 
with which its fantastic, but frequently injurious tricks 
are played off upon the poor victims of this unjustifi- 
able practice. A moment's serious reflection, — should 
either of you ever find herself one of these victims, 
ought to be sufficient to convince the sufferer, that such 
a practice, if confirmed into habit, cannot possibly 
proceed from any other source, than a cruel, rude, and 
unfeeling heart. Shun it then, I beseech you, shun it, 
as entirely unbecoming the gentle character of your 
sex ; forbidden by all the laws of mutual kindness, 
and good breeding; and repugnant to the true spirit of 
christian benevolence. 

Were I to say all which might be urged in favour of 
the temper most desirable, I should be compelled to 
write a book, instead of a single lecture. But there 
is one place where you may find a definition, or rather 
description of it, so full, and at the same time so con- 
cise, that you need go no farther, — at least for the 
great outlines. One of the Epistles of St. Paul (1st 
Cor.) gives this explanation in language so clear and 
impressive, that none can read, and study it diligently, 
without being thoroughly convinced that it contain? 
4 



42 

the best summary extant of all the mental qualities es- 
sential to the formation of a perfect character, so far as 
temper is necessary to make it. The single word 
" charity" comprises them all ; and if all are to be 
diligently cultivated by those who anxiously desire to 
merit the praise of good-temper ; the qualities opposed 
to them, are to be as studiously avoided by all who 
fear to incur the odium and disgrace of bad temper. 
The continual dread of the one, is not less necessary, 
than the ardent desire for the other, in order to secure 
that which alone can justifiably be sought. Whatever 
may be your future destiny, whether prosperous, or 
unfortunate ; be it your fate to enjoy all the gratifica- 
tions that wealth, or elevated station can confer ; or to 
suffer all the calamities of pain, sickness, and abject 
poverty ; — still good-temper will be equally useful, 
equally necessary. Without it, in the first case, you 
will find none to participate cordially in your plea- 
sures ; and destitute of it, in the second, you will have 
no one to sympathize fully in your affliction. In either 
situation you must stand friendless and unsought. If 
rich, you will be despised, and probably hated — even 
by those who associate with you for your money; and 
if poor, you will meet none of that effectual aid and 
relief which always flows from the hands and hearts 
of the benevolent towards virtue in distress. The ob- 
ject of christian charity must be virtuous, or the re- 
lief administered, is bestowed from a sense of duty, ra- 
ther than from any feeling of real sympathy. But 
Low far, — very far short — does this supply of mere ani- 



43 

mal wants fall, of all which the wretched sufferer may 
often require to alleviate the whole burden of sorrow 
that overwhelms both soul and body. The pangs of 
the heart which constitute much the largest portion of 
human misery both in rich and poor, are not to be 
cured effectually by any thing but human sympathy 
bestowed by and on a truly christian spirit. Good-tem- 
per then, my young friends, in it's most comprehen- 
sive sense, is the " sine qua non," — the great essential 
of character ; without a large share of which you can- 
not possibly pass through life respected, esteemed, che- 
rished and beloved. In the name then, of all the dear- 
est objects of your affections; by every feeling of at- 
• tachment, gratitude, and laudable ambition, which 
binds you to life ; and by all your hopes of happiness 
here and hereafter, let me implore you never for a mo- 
ment to relax your efforts to subdue every unamiable 
disposition, every unkind propensity; every emotion 
of envy, hatred, malice, and uncharitableness; every 
ebullition of scorn, anger, obloquy, revenge, slander, 
and heart-piercing ridicule. If you love one another 
as companions, as individuals of the same sex, — but 
above all, as christians ought to do, you will need no 
other security against these hateful, detestable quali- 
ties : But without this safe-guard, continually nurtur- 
ed as your bosom friend, I cannot venture to say how 
long you may escape. Deeply should I deplore your 
degradation into such characters as 1 have denounced ; 
but it is a danger in some degree perpetually hanging 
over all those who fulfil not the christian precept — 






44 

» /ove one another?* to the very letter, as well as in the 
true spirit of the command. 

The subject of deportment, although intimately 
connected with that of temper, requires some separate 
remarks. It comprehends every tiling meant by the 
words demeanour, manner, behaviour and conduct r so 
far as the person is concerned. Good deportment, — 
(if a single sentence could explain it,) might be well 
defined, as well as recommended by the following con- 
cise precept — *' never affect to be what you are not:" — 
and if any one general rule would suffice, this, I be- 
lieve, would be as good as any other. For it would 
guard you against an arrogant, supercilious manner ; 
resulting from some fancied superiority against the 
pretension to more learning, more wit, more wealth, 
more refinement, — in short more of any thing, than 
you had a right to claim. It would equally guard you 
too, against the opposite, but not less disgusting error, 
of affecting great humility in regard to all your at- 
tainments. It would secure you also against the awk- 
ward, embarrassed, ridiculous gestures of a would-be- 
fine lady ; against mistaking noise for gaiety ; rude- 
ness, for easy, allowable familiarity; and boisterous 
mirth, and vulgar jests for animated dialogue and 
sprightly wit. It would save you from the low rude- 
ness, when entertaining others, of betraying your sus- 
picions that they saw better things at your house and 
table, than they could see at their own. Nor would 
you ever commit, when entertained bv them, the 



45 

equally vulgar incivility of appearing to despise 01 
dislike what they gave you. It would maintain in 
your minds the habitual conviction, that their own 
natural manner, restrained by a constant regard to 
decorum, is best for every body; that the essence of 
all good deportment consists in putting every one with 
whom you associate, as much at their ease as possible ; 
and that the only effectual mode of doing this, is to 
appear at ease yourself. The whole art consists in 
respectful attention to superiors ; unconstrained civil- 
ity and friendly regard to equals; kindness and con- 
descension to inferiors ; and uniform politeness to all. 
Never permit yourselves to use coarse, vulgar, rude, 
abusive, or passionate language to any ; and always 
keep it in mind, that although our deportment and ap- 
parel have this in common, — that we must wear them 
both in company ; there is one all-important differ- 
ence between them. In the latter case we may have 
an every -day, as well as a holiday ~ suit ; but in the 
former, duty, as well as policy, demands that we 
should invariably keep on our best. No situation, 
nor circumstances, can exempt any lady from this 
law, — one indispensable part of which 1 must here par- 
ticularize. I mean the invariable use of those daily 
salutations interchanged by all well-bred people. — 
They should be most scrupulously observed by every 
body, whether they are strangers, or familiar acquain- 
tance, visitors, or members of the same family. For 
intimacy, if exempted from this easily practicable il- 
lustration of good manners, would be little better than 
4* 



46 

a license for rudeness, vulgarity, and entire neglect of 
common decorum. As good deportment has its foun- 
dation in some of the best feelings of the heart, rea- 
son and morality, as well as convenience and comfort, 
may be plead in favour of it's constant observance. 
When not the effect of constraint, and mere outward 
compliance with what we believe the world requires of 
us, it flows directly from the benevolent desire to 
please and oblige ; and therefore, whenever we see it, 
if the actor or actress be a tolerably good one, we na- 
turally ascribe it to an amiable disposition. Such 
then is its inestimable advantage, even where it is sim- 
ply the effect of study and practice, unaided by natural 
good feeling; but with this to render it habitual, social 
life has no greater charm, nor stronger ligament. It 
calls forth all the tender charities of our existence ; 
and cherishes, strengthens and confirms that univer- 
sal spirit of christian philantrophy, without a large 
share of which, life itself would be a curse instead 
of a blessing. Good or bad deportment displays 
itself in almost every thing we say or do; and such 
is the influence which it exercises over mankind, 
that universal regard is attracted by the first, and 
universal repugnance excited by the last. Indeed 
even the most splendid talents, and extensive in- 
formation, — nay, the all-powerful and transcendent 
charms of beauty itself, never attain much popular- 
ity, nor engage much homage, unless the deportment 
of the possessor be conciliating and agreeable. Where- 
as a very moderate share of abilities, and knowledge 



47 

united to good manners, graceful demeanour, and po- 
lite conversation, — even without personal attractions^ 
very rarely fail to render the individuals who are re- 
markable for such attainments, universal favourites. 
Let not even beauty then, flatter herself with the vain 
conceit of ever making many captives, unless she de- 
votes more time to making cages, for their safe- 
keeping, than nets to entangle them. Fine complex- 
ion, fine features, and smiles, may do well enough for 
the latter ; but fine temper, graceful deportment, and 
engaging conversation, can alone answer for the for- 
mer purpose. These last may also be called univer- 
sal letters of recommendation, — well understood, and 
of great current value among all ranks and classes of 
society : so much so indeed, as to be every where the 
first objects of attraction, even before any thought is 
bestowed upon what may be the moral principles of the 
persons whom we meet in the world. We take it for 
granted at first sight, that good deportment can flow 
only from good principles ; and wherever we see it, 
we almost irresistibly conclude, that these principles 
are its source. How incalculably important then is it, 
my young friends, that good deportment, as well as 
good temper, should form notonly the subjects of your 
constant meditation, but the objects of your unceasing 
regard and practice. Possessed of these, you would 
ever be secure of a favourable reception, even among 
savages; while with civilized man, their advantages 
are almost beyond all powers of calculation. The 
heart that can remain shut against their fascinating 



48 

influence must be made of such materials as are rare- 
ly discovered in a human bosom. 

I have reserved for the last, (as by far the most im- 
portant of all,) your deportment during public and pri- 
vate worship. This, to be effectual, either for ourselves, 
or as an example to others, should be both externally 
and internally, serious and devout. In reality, careless- 
ness and impiety on this sacred occasion, is not /ess sin- 
ful in man, than in woman; but public sentiment ex- 
acts a much more strict observance of decorous and 
pious conduct from your sex than from ours. Indeed, 
so universally does this feeling prevail among the 
thinking and religious part of mankind, that a woman 
who would habitually be guilty of any visible inatten- 
tion, levity of demeanor, or irreverence of attitude, 
during the few, the very few minutes devoted to prayer, 
would be looked upon, as something shockingly unna- 
tural, and nearly lost to all sense of propriety; — if not 
actually destitute of some of the most essential moral 
principles in the female character : — such as sensibility, 
gratitude, and a capacity to love as well as to compre- 
hend the sublime truths and obligations of the Gospel. 
And what other conclusidn, let me ask, could be drawn 
by any reflecting mind, from beholding a set of weak, 
dependent, helpless beings — such as we are, owing 
every thing, as a matter of grace, to the omnipotent 
God who made us, — even the very breath that we re- 
spire, (for he could strike us dead in the twinkling of 
an eye,) and yet apparently incapable even for ten or 



49 

fifteen minutes in the twenty-four hours, of rendering 
up in spirit and in truth the poor, utterly inadequate 
homage of our thanks and adoration, for all the innu- 
merable instances of his unmerited goodness and mer- 
cy towards us ? Can any person who has a heart, and 
takes this view of the subject, fail to shudder at the 
dreadful peril of such unpardonable neglect ? Can any 
one who has a soul to be saved, refrain from instantly 
and fervently praying, that, if such has been their state, 
all their former disregard of holy ordinances may be 
forgiven; all their past insensibility to divine favour 
pardoned ; and all previous hardness of heart and con- 
tempt of God's sacred word, be converted into the 
pure, unchangeable, and ardent spirit of christian de- 
votion ? May the father of mercies avert from each of 
us, all such irrational heedlessness of the hazardous con- 
dition in which we continually stand; — all such impi- 
ous disregard of his heavenly forbearance and love; 
all such hopeless obduracy and insane ingratitude, for 
the daily opportunities afforded us for reformation ; al- 
though we perpetually hang over the \evy brink of that 
awful eternity, beyond whose verge all hope will be 
extinct, all repentance unavailing ; and nothing cer- 
tain but remorse and despair to every soul who, dur- 
ing this life, has alike rejected the means of grace and 
the promises of heavenly glory. 

Before I close this lecture, I would endeavour, if 
possible, to fix your attention on what 1 have uttered, 
but particularly on those parts of my subject whicli 



50 






involve the great principles of moral and religions 
duty. Will you bear with me then, for a few minutes 
kmger, while I solemnly entreat you by every good 
feeling that you have ever cherished ; by all the good 
qualities which you have ever loved to anticipate as 
constituent parts of your character, never to violate 
these principles? Will you listen to me, while I most 
earnestly beseech you not to suffer what 1 have said to 
escape your memories, like the vanishing breath of 
the passing breeze? Beware lest you consider the 
subjects of my admonitions as common-place mat- 
ters, in which you will have but little agency, and 
still less concern. 

The admonitions themselves are the result of my 
most deliberate judgment; prompted by anxiety for 
your welfare ; and uttered with the deepest conviction 
of their truth and importance. They relate to nothing 
less than those chief elements and essential ingredients 
in character, temper and deportment ; on which it 
may truly be said, that your all depends. For while 
the last, if good, will secure you temporal fame, es- 
teem, and affection ; your proper regulation of the 
first, is, that one thing needful: without which, the 
great, immeasurable interests of eternity are lost to 
you forever. 

The hour is fast approaching when most of us must 
part, — at least for many weeks, — perhaps forever. 
Under such circumstances, is it possible that any of 



51 

you can be indifferent to the many affecting conside- 
rations which present themselves on such an occasion. 
To the anxious hopes and anticipations of your 
friends, and near, and dear connexions ; to the great 
and sacred duties for the fulfilment of which you have 
been so often and earnestly importuned to prepare ; 
and to all the obligations of present and future time, 
continually increasing both the number and dignity of 
their claims to your obedience ? In contemplating the 
moment of return to the bosom of your families, do 
you anxiously anticipate' such a reception as ought to 
be given to the cherished and meritorious objects of 
their most tender affections? What imaginable right 
have you to expect such endearment, if you have neg- 
lected to cultivate with your utmost assiduity, all 
those qualities which alone can give you any just title 
to it? Ask yourselves whether it would be compatible 
either with good faith, or your filial obligations, to 
practice such a deception on those to whom you owe 
so much, as to suffer yourselves to be pressed to their 
hearts in the full, uncontradicted persuasion that you 
are all which they wish you to be, if you have not re- 
sisted with all your might the revolting habit of rude, 
unpolished manners ; the deadly poison of selfish, and 
malignant passions ; the perverse, obstinate, and dog- 
ged disposition to oppose every thing like good advice 
and salutary restraint ? With what face will you be 
able to meet those eyes beaming with parental love 
and confidence, if your own consciences tell you that 
your ears have been wilfully shut against both friendly 



52 

admonition and necessary reproof; — that no self-con- 
troul has been exercised ; no mild, benevolent, affec- 
tionate feelings cultivated ; no moral and religious du- 
ties sincerely ana devoutly performed ; — in short, no 
steady, unalterable purpose formed, to improve both 
your hearts and understandings to the utmost extent of 
your opportunities ? Oh ! my young friends, if this 
purpose be not already formed and fixed, let it be 
done immediately, before the hour of our separation 
arrives. Good intentions, never fulfilled, constitute, 
it is said, the pavement of hell ; and no figure of 
speech can possibly illustrate more forcibly, the immi- 
nent peril of postponing their execution. Let it not, 
I beseech you, be your case; nor suffer my earnest 
wishes, and fervent prayers for your happiness, which 
will accompany you wherever the providence of God 
may direct your course, to be altogether unavailing. 
But permit me still, confidently to hope, that should 
we part to meet no more in this life, none of you will 
have lived in vain ; nor fail to enjoy in another and 
a better world, your portion of that felicity which 
awaits the virtuous, in the everlasting mansions of eter- 
nal bliss. 






THE subject of the present Lecture is a theme, 
which, I lament to say, is as copious as it is painful. 
It is the foibles, faults, and vices of your sex. Not that 
1 design to represent them greater than our own ; — 
for God knows that we have more than enough, which 
almost exclusively, or at least in a much higher de- 
gree attach to our sex ; but there are others that belong 
more particularly to yours; while some are common 
to both. 1 lament the copiousness of my subject, be- 
cause a knowledge of these defects is so apt to sink be- 
low its proper height, the standard which we form in 
early life of female loveliness and perfection ; and be- 
cause so much of human happiness depends upon such 
an exemption from these failings, as very few attain, — 
although easily attainable by all who enjoy the inesti- 
mable advantages of good examples, and good edu- 
cation. Would to God, my young friends, that I 
were capable of making you see this matter as you 
ought to do. — Would to God, that the being who 
guards your lives from injury ; — who shields your ho- 
nour from reproach ; who provides all the essentials 
for your happiness, would inspire me with such lan- 
guage, as would at once reach your hearts, and im- 
press them with the indelible conviction, that you can 
5 



54 

expect no felicity eilher here or hereafter, unless you 
continually, and ardently endeavour in reality to be, 
what you all, beyond doubt, would wish to appear; — 
that is, without vice, without fault, without even a foi- 
ble to sully the spotless purity of your characters. 

Although the divisions which I have adopted of de- 
viations from rectitude and sound principle, into foi- 
bles, faults, and vices, be a common one among writers 
on morals; yet I know not well, where to draw the 
line of distinction between them. They are all, in 
fact, scions from the stock of human depravity ; — 
children of the same family : or, to change the meta- 
phor — diseases of the same general type, and differing 
only in degrees of malignity. They lead alike to de- 
gradation of character, and final destitution of moral 
worth. For that which, at first, may well be designat- 
ed by the softer epithet— -foible, if wilfully persevered 
in, becomes at last, a serious fault ; and this again, if 
habitually practised without any effort at reformation, 
degenerates into downright vice. Familiarity with one 
of the odious tribe, weakens our abhorrence of all ; 
we loose by degrees, our love of excellence and anxiety 
for fair repute ; become careless of the world's good 
opinion ; grow selfish and sensual ; and not unfre- 
quently end our career by exchanging the admiration, 
esteem, and affection of mankind, for contempt, dis- 
grace, and infamy itself. 

But let me come at once to particulars, and endea- 



55 

vour to mark for your avoidance, — without any very 
precise classification, all such errors and defects, either 
of temper, deportment, or morals, as persons of your 
age and sex, in your situations, are most liable to con- 
tract and commit. In the first place, it is a radical 
fault of fatal tendency from being the source of many 
others, for almost every young person, while at school? 
to neglect, — indeed, often to disregard entirely, several 
practices which are universally observed in all well- 
bred, genteel society; and which they themselves (were 
they asked the question) would not hesitate to say, 
must be observed by them also, as soon as they " turn 
ouf* according to the current phrase. Youth, — espe- 
cially youth at school, they seem to think, is a season 
when they may dispense with all the common forms of 
civility invariably interchanged in every polite assem- 
blage of grown persons ; — when they are privileged to 
be rude to each other, and those with whom they asso- 
ciate 5 when they may be as noisy, obstreperous, romp- 
ing, and even quarrelsome, as inclination leads them 
to be ; and when nothing which they may say or do in 
their hours of relaxation, can have any effect, or abid- 
ing influence on their future manners and character* 
This is a most deplorable mistake. For you may rely 
on it with as much certainty, as on your present exis- 
tence, that unless you practice while young, the man- 
ners of ladies, you will never attain them when old. 
It would be equally absurd to calculate on dancing 
well, or playing finely on musical instruments without 
any previous training, as to believe it possible to meta- 



56 

morphose yourselves at once, from rude, unpolished, 
hoyden girls, into women of easy, graceful, and amia- 
ble deportment. As well might the sluggish ox at- 
tempt the martial trampe of the well-practised war- 
horse; — the clumsy tortoise emulate the elastic and 
agile spring of the antelope ; — or the awkward goose 
imitate the graceful movements of a perfect opera-dan- 
cer ; as for a woman to assume the air, carriage, and 
manners of a lady, who while she was a girl, had ut- 
terly neglected all the means of acquiring them. The 
habits of early youth would be continually breaking 
through all your efforts at restraint; rude contradic- 
tions (if formerly indulged in) would be constantly 
ready, — and often would burst from your lips ; — the 
kch to snatch food from each other, and from your at- 
tendants, if once practiced, would often be at your fin- 
ger's ends, even at the head of your own tables ; the 
meeting and passing each other in the morning with- 
out notice or salutation, if habitual in youth, would be 
unconsciously continued in maturity and old age ; — 
the slamming of doors, the tom-boy prancing along in- 
stead of walking; — the screams and shrieks of affected 
merriment or fright, if once your customary sport, 
would be very apt to form a part of the entertainment 
for your company in your own houses ; — and in short, 
like the cat turned fine lady, (if you ever read the fa- 
ble,) who betrayed herself by jumping out of bed to 
run after a mouse, — you would be everlastingly in 
danger of exposing yourselves to derision, contempt, 
or pity, by your ignorance, awkwardness, and vulga- 



57 

rity in attempting to act that part as mistresses of fa° 
milies in your own houses, which would be perfectly 
easy and practicable to you, had you always kept it in 
mind, that to play the lady well when women, can ne- 
ver be learned so easily at any time, as while you are 
girls ; — if indeed, it can be learned at all, after that 
period has been suffered to pass unimproved. It is 
not the age, the house, the occupation, the company, or 
particular circumstances in which you may be placed, 
that either creates or annuls the obligation to lady-like 
conduct; for none who are really ladies, or aspire to 
be so, are ever exempt from this duty. Once a lady, 
always a lady; — for this character is not a mask or 
dress to be put on or off at pleasure ; but must be con- 
tinually worn daring life, if you would have the world 
always ascribe it to you. 

Let nothing which I have said be so construed as in 
any degree to check that buoyancy of spirit, and gaiety 
of heart, which are the usual companions, as well as 
evidences of youth, innocence, good health, and hap- 
piness. No — far, very far from me and mine, be all 
such austerity. Let innocent mirth, the merry dance, 
the good-humoured jest, the joyous laugh go round, 
until the welkin rings again, provided always, that no- 
thing be said or done, unbecoming ladies to say, or 
do : and provided also, that it be not out of season. — 
For example, none of those exuberant overflowings of 
animal spirits, either look or sound well, immediately 
on the arrival, or during the visit of an utter stranger 
5* 



58 



Still less ought they to be exhibited either immediately 
before, during or after family worship ; for no lady in 
fact, would do such violence to the feelings of piously 
disposed persons, even if she herself had little or no 
piety. Neither ought these outbreakings to be indulg- 
ed at the expense of any persons much older than our- 
selves, who we believe, would be greatly annoyed by 
them : for we should ever recollect that " there is a time 
for all things;" and that it is a precept of Christianity, 
as well as of good breeding, never unnecessarily to 
wound the feelings of others, even when they appear 
in reality more nice than wise ; and more fastidious, 
than they ought to be. " Do unto others as we would 
they should do unto us," — is a rule of conduct applica- 
ble to all ages, sexes, and conditions ; nor is it more « 
religious command, than a maxim of genuine urbanity 
and politeness. This admirable rule, in fact, contains 
within itself the whole code of practical morality and 
lady-like conduct ; for it is impossible that any one 
who adopts it as their constant guide can ever go far 
wrong either in morals or demeanour. Let me be- 
seech you then, frequently to appeal to it in your own 
minds; as such an appeal will almost always enable 
you to determine how to act in any situation in which 
you may be placed. 

In addressing you on these deeply interesting topicks, 
1 must take it for granted that all who hear me are sin- 
cerely anxious to pursue such a course as may render 
them" dear to all their relatives and friends; admired 



59 

and beloved in whatever society their lot may be cast ; 
and examples of propriety in conduct, and rectitude in 
principle, to all who may become acquainted with them. 
These, my young friends, are no very easy attain- 
ments ; for mere wishes can never acquire them ; nei- 
ther can they be imparted by all the admonitions in 
the world. Nothing in short, can make you mistresses 
of such admirable accomplishments, but the continual 
practice during your whole lives, both at school, and 
ever afterwards, of all the means requisite for their 
acquisition. The human mind can no more become 
healthy, vigorous, and productive of good fruit, with- 
out constant and most assiduous culture, than a tree 
can : nor is the moralist who expects the heart and un- 
derstanding to make even an approximation towards 
perfection, without continually exercising and cherish- 
ing all their best affections, at all more rational, than 
the horticulturist who would look for fair and lovely 
flowers in the garden which he had suffered to be over- 
run with noxious and loathsome weeds. Would you 
have your society eagerly sought, and enjoyed with 
delight by all with whom you associate, endeavour to 
keep the following precepts ever present to your minds. 
Be always particularly attentive to cleanliness both of 
person and dress; for whatever toleration some of your 
own sex may feel for what is called a female sloven or 
slattern, be assured there is nothing like it among ours. 
Even those men who who are slovens themselves, feel 
nearly as great a repugnance to a slovenly woman, as 
they would to a hog dressed in women's apparel. In 



60 



fact, to be a stattern. is to offer continual violence to all 
those ideas of deli<: >v purity, and loveliness xfrbich 
our sex delight to cherish as inseparable from the fe- 
male character in its most exemplary and attractive 
form. Again, you must avoid, as you would a demon 
oi - -chief, every thing like a harsh, angry, rude, and 
boisterous manner; for your own sex always endea- 
vour to keep out of the way of such associates: while 
ours are much more apt to look upon those who prac- 
tice them, as blackguard men dressed in women's 
clothes, than as objects to be loved, courted, and mar- 
ried. We have, in truth, very kw Petruchios among 
us; for much the greater part of our sex would nearly 
as soon think of choosing a frantic bedlamite, or a 
barrel of gun-powder with a firebrand in it, for a wife, 
as a woman like his Kate. In fact, no man in his sober 
senses, ever yet married a very violent tempered wo- 
man — knowing her to be such : for if he was sane be- 
fore marriage, he would certainly calculate upon be- 
coming insane very soon afterwards, or utterly misera- 
ble. In an evil hour are such furies (of either sex) 
ever born ; for wretched indeed, to the last degree 
wretched do they make all who have the misfortune to 
be subjected to their power. Very rarely, however, 
do we ever meet with any so bad, as to be incapable 
of reformation, where they themselves will resolutely 
undertake their own cure. And to succeed, is the most 
honourable, because the most difficult of all conquests: 
for it demonstrates to the world, that we have all the 
essentials of great character — discernment to see our 



6 * 

own defects, magnanimity to acknowledge them, cou- 
rage to combat the danger, firmness to persevere in the 
arduous means of victory, continual self-controul, and 
power at last to achieve it. 

Another most important precept is, most carefully 
to shun, and to suppress every sentiment even border- 
ing on envy, malice, and uncharitableness. The first, 
(if silently indulged,) will prove an eternal torment to 
yourselves, and if you give it utterance, your utmost 
care cannot conceal the baseness of your motives. 
The consequence will be, the avoidance of all whose 
society you would probably most desire to enjoy. The 
second and third, especially when displayed in attack- 
ing the characters of any of your own sex, will al- 
ways excite against you the feelings of dread, antipa- 
thy, and even abhorrence, if your object seems to be — 
the ruin of reputation. Nor will it much mend your 
chance of escape, that you deal in hints and inuen- 
does, instead of open amission to effect your purpose. 
In fact the indirect mode of destroying character, is, if 
possible, more odious and detestable, if not in reality 
more criminal, than that which is direct ; because it is 
combined with artifice, and indicates a source of deep- 
er, more inherent, and diabolical malignity. It is, in 
short, the midnight assassin, compared to the noon- 
day murderer. These are vices sufficiently abomina- 
ble, and equally criminal in both sexes, but the gene- 
ral sentiment appears more opposed to them in your 
sex, than in ours. Why it should be so, I know not 



62 

unless it arises from ihe belief that since unsullied re- 
pute appears more vitally important to women than 
to men, it is more unnatural in those to whom this in- 
estimable gem seems most necessary, to endeavour to 
deprive others of that, without which it would be far 
belter that they themselves were dead. 

But the fault, or rather vice against which I would 
more particularly and earnestly beseech you to guard 
yourselves, is that which is designated by the term 
gossipping, than which there is no word in our lan- 
guage, either more comprehensive in its meaning, or 
more odious in its consequences : for it is compounded 
of all that is mean, degrading, and unnatural in mo- 
tive ; insidious, uncharitable, and malicious in con- 
duct; slanderous, mischievous, and destructive to so- 
cial happiness in effect. It is true that all gossipping 
is not equally baneful ; but the least culpable is below 
the dignity of a rational and moral agent; and origi- 
nates nearly from the same source, which produces 
the most vicious kind, and may become the same by 
long, unrestrained indulgence. That persons infected 
with this disease, for disease it may justly be called, 
should ever obtain the footing which they often do, in 
good company, is among the most unaccountable 
things that 1 know. For the opportunities of constant 
intercourse, which appear indispensable to furnish the 
gossip with the aliment on which she lives and feasts, 
are only to be obtained, one would think, by a con- 
tinual manifestation of qualities directly the reverse of 



63 

those which mark and distinguish her character For 
example, plain, unaffected, amiable manners ; cordial 
good nature ; and such innocent, agreeable conversa- 
tion, as can wound neither the feelings of those who 
are present, nor the reputations of such as are absent, 
are the only general passports to good society. Yet 
none of these delightfully-attractive recommendations 
can the genuine, thorough-paced gossip ever counter- 
feit, with any tolerable chance, or prospect of success. 
Again, the incessant clatter of her tongue might seem 
to proceed from the inclination to impart information, 
which in itself is a good disposition. But 'tis no such 
thing; a few minutes listening to her, suffice to prove 
that the sole cause is the exquisite, intense delight 
which she takes in the sound of her own voice ; in the 
contemplation of her own conscious power to do mis- 
chief; and in witnessing the success of her efforts to 
disturb the peace and harmony of whole neighbour- 
hoods. View her when thus employed, and judge 
merely by a slight glance at her manner and external 
appearance, you would imagine that you saw in the 
animation of her countenance, the coruscation of her 
smiles, ^ind the eagerness of her utterance, that nothing 
less than the happiness of all her acquaintance, or of 
the whole human race, formed the chief object of her 
desires. But come a little nearer, trust not to your 
eye alone, listen and look attentively, and you will 
soon perceive that under all this shew of complacency, 
benevolence, and interest in human felicity, there lurks 
the incurable and ever busy passion for disseminating 



64 

distrust, jealousy, and hatred, where all before was 
confidence and good-will ; for converting social affec- 
tions and friendly intercourse into bitter animosities 
and lasting estrangement ; and in short, for weaving 
such a complicated web of neighbourhood misunder- 
standings, bickerings, dislikes, revilings, and slanders, 
that the Devil himself could not unravel it, were he 
disposed to try. Then come on the endless fending 
and proving which it is the consummation of her art 
to set on foot, after her plot is sufficiently thickened to 
render all satisfactorj' explanations hopeless. May 
God defend and pretect you, my young friends, from 
all such examples ; from all such associates ; and still 
more, from all such friends, if it be not a prostitution 
of the term to couple it with any such characters. 

Although the portrait which I have endeavoured to 
give you of the gossip is in its most aggravated form, 
it is still no exaggeration ; and I entreat you not to 
imagine yourselves out of all danger of resembling it, 
because you feel at present exempt from such enormity 
of moral turpitude. Very small faults, if continually 
indulged without any restraint, soon become great 
vices ; nor is this remark more applicable to any par- 
ticular faults, than to those which contribute to the 
formation of that social-pest — the true gossip. You 
cannot, therefore, be too careful in avoiding indul- 
gence in any of them. A few general rules, if you 
would never deviate from them, would prove an effec- 
tual safe-guard. The first is, never to busy your- 



65 

selves with other people's affairs, unless by their own 
special solicitation, and even then, solely with the 
true intent to befriend them. The second is, never 
to repeat any thing that you hear— although no 
secrecy be enjoined, if you believe its repetition will 
do more harm than good. And the last makes it our 
duty, as far as we justly can, rather to check, than to 
give greater currency to any tale or report whatever, 
which threatens to injure the reputation of man, wo- 
man, or child. 

It may be a salutary relief from the painful reflec- 
tions suggested by the foregoing illustrations of great 
faults and vices, to turn our thoughts to the considera- 
tion of some of the less pernicious defects which dimi- 
nish the worth of the female character ; but which still 
stand sufficiently high on the scale of imperfection to 
make it proper that I should stigmatize them for your 
avoidance. Among these may be classed, the neces- 
sity which some appear to think themselves under, of 
being exceedingly terrified at the sight of snakes, rats, 
spiders, and other such formidable insects and ani- 
mals. This usually proceeds from a belief that it will 
excite sympathy, and a high idea of their refinement 
and sensibility. There cannot well be a greater mis- 
take; for ridicule, contempt, or pity, are the only sen- 
timents which such conduct ever inspires. Another 
lamentable delusion of this class, is the impatience to 
attract that attention from strangers, which seems as 
if it would come too tardily, when left to take its na- 
6 



66 

tural course. The usual symptoms by which it be- 
trays itself to a person of the slightest experience and 
observation, are; — whisperings to each other, when the 
parties have nothing to say ; tittering and giggling at 
no body knows what ; and if all this fails, — talking at, 
rather than to the unlucky object of all this solicitude, 
to be noticed. The same game may be played, even 
out of the company of the individual for whose atten- 
tion such restless young ladies are candidates ; as is 
very well understood by all of our sex who are not ab- 
solute green horns. It consists in doing or saying 
something, (no matter what,) in another room, loud 
enough to provoke the inquiry from the desired quar- 
ter of — " who is that ?" Such manoeuvres are always 
considered by our sex equivalent to a verbal petition 
in so many words of — " pray come and pay me a lit- 
tle attention ; you can't imagine how much I want it." 
They fail an hundred times where they succeed once ; 
and are listened to, only to be laughed at. The better 
plan therefore, certainly is, to depend (as the mariners 
say) " upon plain sailing ;" never to forget that 
striking and admirable characteristick of our good 
mother Eve, whom Milton describes as one who 
" would not unsought be won." It is a hard case 
perhaps, that these vile men will be so insensible to 
female attractions of such general currency ; but it is 
the nature of the beast, who must be taken, — if taken 
at all, for better for worse, as the parlies in every ma* 
ftrimonial contract, take each other. 



67 

There is another fault which just presents itself to 
my recollection (although no way connected with the 
foregoing,) against which I will now caution you, lest 
I should omit to notice it elsewhere. Young ladies are 
rarely guilty of it, but since they catch many of their 
defects from elderly ones, among whom yon not im- 
frequently observe it, some reprehension must be bes- 
towed on it. This fault is to be seen particularly in 
those who wish to be estimated as holding a certain rank 
in society, which confers on them the privilege of be- 
ing quite fastidious in regard to all matters of domes- 
tic management; but especially the wonderful art, 
science, and mystery of cookery. There is scarcely 
any thing in the World — if cooked out of their own. 
houses, that such ladies can eat, without betraying 
their disgust. And you would imagine, to hear them 
talk, that none but themselves, could possibly direct 
food to be prepared in a way that would fit it for the 
diet of a human being,— much less to entertain the pa- 
lates of such refined and exquisite judges of good liv- 
ing as themselves. They vainly imagine that this is 
the true mode to give all who see and hear them, a 
high idea of the good taste and delicate manner in 
which they have been brought up. But such conduct* 
and such conversation, is the very essence of vulgarity 
and low-breeding, incessently struggling to ascend 
higher up the ladder of gentility than nature ever de- 
signed they should. For although every real lady, — 
if she be a house-keeper, will deem it a part of her 
duty to acquire the knowledge necessary to keep a 



68 

good table, yet you will always discover it more from 
the appearance of the table itself, than from any dis- 
play of the culinary art in what she says to her com- 
pany. Nor do you ever hear her at her own table, — 
still less at that of another, talk as if she thought the 
chief business of life was to pamper and indulge the 
appetite for food. Epicurism in a female is quite bad 
enough; but gluttony is to the last degree disgusting 
and loathsome. Some who are aware of this loathing 
and disgust felt by every man towards a gluttonous 
woman, and who mistake the reverse of wrong for 
right, would have the world believe that they deem it 
a great excess to eat as much as the leg and wing of a 
lark ; or that it is altogether incompatible with female 
delicacy to live upon any thing much grosser than 
ether itself. Such ladies, in order to acquire what the 
oracular and silly books which they chiefly consult, 
call " a Sylph-Like Form" will starve themselves 
nearly to death ; will deluge and corrode their stomachs 
with acids; and will discipline and excruciate their 
bodies with corsettes, until good health, good spirits, 
and good principles all sink together; and the poor, 
deluded victim of infatuated vanity and folly dies a 
martyr to the vain effort of making herself something 
which nature had interdicted. Many — very many 
female constitutions are utterly destroyed by these in- 
sane practices ; and the worst of it is, that the mis- 
chief is rarely noticed until past remedy ; — when 
some lingering and painful disease — generally con- 
sumption, closes the melancholy scene. Such a 



69 

thoughtless and prodigal waste of these inestimable 
blessings — life and health, is shameful and wicked 
beyond my power to describe. 

In the foregoing pages I have endeavoured so dis- 
tinctly to mark with their due portion of reprobation, 
the chief defects and besetting sins to which you are 
exposed through life, that should any of them hereaf- 
ter sully your characters, endanger your peace, or 
finally mar your happiness, it will be entirely your 
own fault. Nothing, I believe, that is material, has 
been omitted. But should this be the case, there is no 
such affinity between virtue and vice, folly and wis- 
dom, good and bad conduct, as to render it at all dif- 
ficult to distinguish between right and wrong in any 
situation in which you may be placed. The whole 
code of morals is so clearly laid down and explained 
in the holy scriptures, that to be ignorant on any point 
contained therein, is utterly impossible, if you will 
only read and study your bible diligently. And in 
regard to manners, you have little else to do, than to 
take for your model Milton's incomparable portrait 
of our mother Eve, of whom he says : 

« Grace was in all her steps, Heaven in her eye ; 

'« In ev'ry gesture, dignity and love." 

What Eve was in moral qualifications, every one who 
hears me, may be. Her innocence, her modesty, her 
mildness of temper, her humility and exemption from 
vanity, her anxiety for improvement in knowledge 
and virtue, her benevolence towards man, and piety 
6* 



70 

towards God — are all attainable qualities by every 
individual of her sex, whose principles have not been 
perverted by bad education. And in regard to her 
personal attractions, if all cannot possess them in 
equal degree, they should at least endeavour to ac- 
quire them as far as they can ; because they, and they 
alone, constitute the perfection of female loveliness 
and beauty : — a perfection, which I beseech you to 
remark, that the poet represents as resulting more 
from the moral than physical effect of her appear- 
ance. 

Without this moral beauty and loveliness, by which 
1 mean a countenance and manner irradiating all the 
amiable qualities of the heart, mere regularity of fea- 
tures and symmetry of form, are scarcely worth a pass- 
ing thought. They are the very toys and play-things 
of an hour for grown children, who bestow not a 
thought beyond the object and moment of present en- 
joyment. 

Before 1 close this address, I must not omit to ad- 
monish you against another fault of which most 
young persons, and indeed, far too many old ones, 
are guilty in a highly reprehensible degree. This is 
the want of economy both of time and money. In 
regard to the first, the calculation among young peo- 
ple seems to be, that all which can be taken from 
study and bestowed on idleness, is absolute gain ; 
whereas the very reverse of this is true: for every mo- 



Tl 

merit not spent in improving ourselves in all useful 
knowledge, (except the time devoted to necessary 
recreation,) is irreparable loss. With respeci to the 
want of economy in money matters, no person depen- 
dent as you all are, upon others, can possibly indulge 
themselves in it, without committing, in almost every 
case, at least three decidedly immoral actions — to 
wit : selfishness, — waste, — and ingratitude. For you 
are selfish, when you purchase any gratification in 
which others do not participate ; you are wasteful, 
when you expend, — as you generally do, the price of 
toil and labour — that is money, in perishable trifles of 
little, or no value; and when you dissipate parental 
bounty in thoughtless extravagance, you are certainly 
ungrateful to those who supply you, — not unfrequently 
perhaps by great self denial, with the conveniences 
and comforts of life; and above all, with the inesti- 
mable means of education. It is but a paltry and ut- 
terly futile excuse sometimes made to appease the com- 
punctions of conscience, that the money is your own, 
given to use as you please : for you should ever re- 
collect that it is the pleasure, — nay the command of 
your Maker, to husband our resources, that " we may 
give to those who need," and do all the good we can, 
before we are called hence to settle our great account 
at the final day of punishments and rewards. " Come, 
ye blessed of my father, inherit the kingdom pre- 
pared for you from the foundation of the world," can 
never be the soul cheering sentence of those who, 
while in this life, spend either their time, or their mo- 



72 

ney, chiefly in selfish and sensual indulgence. To 
learn, and to labour truly to get our own living in 
that state to which it hath pleased God to call us ; and 
benevolently to assist others in accomplishing the 
same object, is the principal end, as well as paramount 
duty of our temporal existence. Neither beauty, nor 
riches, nor accomplishments, nor things present, nor 
things to come, can exempt any human being from 
this universal obligation. 

To conclude, — let me again, and again entreat you 
to keep it ever present to your minds, that now, and 
every hour and day of your pupilage, is the accepted 
time to make preparation both for this world and the 
next. Now is the time to acquire not only your man- 
ners, but your morals : now is the time to furnish your- 
selves with a stock of elementary knowledge for pre* 
sent and future use : and now is the irrevocable period 
(if neglected) to learn by practice, all those admira- 
ble courtesies of social life, comprehended in the term 
manners, which aid so much in rendering our exis- 
tence il a way of pleasantness and path of peace ;" 
and contribute more than any thing, but good morals, 
to secure for us the esteem, the admiration, and the 
love of mankind. 



£&<Qffw&& v 



% 



ACCORDING to the order proposed in my first 
Lecture, the topicks of the present will be Manners, 
Accomplishments, and Conversation. Although much 
that belongs to the first subject, was said in treating 
of Deportment; yet some appropriate remarks may 
still be added, which, I believe, were at that time 
omitted. 

Manners are either artificial, or natural. The first 
are such as are super-induced by education ; the second 
are those which result from native good sense, prompt- 
ing us on all occasions to act according to its dictates. 
That the last are incomparably the best, if we cannot 
have both, none can doubt who have had opportuni- 
ties of contrasting them fairly. But since all cannot 
have so excellent a guide, as natural good understand- 
ing, much benefit may be derived from knowing and 
adopting such conventional customs, and modes of 
behaviour, as good society,- — by which I mean 
persons of the best sense, and greatest experience, 
have agreed shall constitute what are called good 
manners. This agreement is the result of much ob- 
servation, and is founded upon the immutable truth, 
that the best manners are those which best display 



74 

good feelings, kindness of heart, an earnest desire to 
promote the comfort and happiness of others, by al- 
ways putting them at ease in your company, and con- 
triving to make them pleased with themselves. If you 
can succeed in this, they will never fail to be pleased 
with you. And here the first thing necessary, is al- 
ways to keep it in mind, that you should constantly 
endeavour, as far as possible, to avoid every thing 
which may have the appearance of practising a les- 
son : — ever remembering that " the perfection of art 
is, to conceal art." Another general rule is contained 
in the trite adage : — " when you are at Rome, do as 
they do at Rome." That is, you should ever con- 
form to the manners and customs of whatever society 
you may happen to be in ; — provided always, that you 
can do it without any violation of moral duty. With 
this last proviso continually before you, it is always 
right to be so far in the fashion, both as to behaviour 
and dress, as never to be remarked for being out of it. 
Many people seem to think, that even the respecta- 
bility of their characters is concerned in pertinaciously 
adhering in every minute particular, to fashions of 
their own, however antiquated. But there is, in fact, 
as much foppery and pedantry, as much pride and 
conceit, — in short, as much want of good sense in all 
this, as in being the first, and the most extravagant to 
adopt every change which the passion for novelty and 
notoriety may invent. If singularity in these matters 
is allowable in any, it must be in those who are far 
advanced in years j and even they may carry this 



75 

whira, (for it deserves no better name,) to a ridicu- 
lous extreme. This would at once strike every body, 
if a gentleman (for example) were to curtsy, or pros- 
trate himself instead of bowing on going into com- 
pany, although the thing in itself has nothing ridicu- 
lous—it becomes so, merely because it is singular 
without any apparent necessity or pretext. One of the 
first exercises then, which we are called upon, when 
we enter into society, to make of whatever good sense 
God may have given us, is carefully to avoid all need- 
less singularity either in opinions or practice; — tak- 
ing special care however, never for fashion sake, ei- 
ther to say, or to do any thing which you conscien- 
tiously believe to be wrong. 

Easy, unconstrained looks and gestures ; a gentle, 
graceful carriage ; a ready conformity to all the pre- 
vailing ceremonies of meeting and taking leave; of 
entering into, and departing from company ; and in- 
terchanging in a proper style, such civilities as are 
customary in the particular society deemed the best, 
constitute good manners, as far as art can give them. 
In the whole catalogue of means to attain our ends, 
whether these are to attract regard, to conciliate es- 
teem, or to command respect, good manners, next to 
good sense, are by far the most important. Indeed, 
if you show that you have the first, the world will al- 
ways give you credit for the last ; because there is 
such a natural congruity between the outer and the 
inner man, that where the former is repulsive, the lat- 



76 

ter will always be deemed very defective. Eloquence 
without good manners, loses half its powers of persua- 
sion ; reason unaccompanied by them, in vain attempts 
to convince ; and even beauty itself, in all the splen- 
dour of its native charms, will display its fascinations 
to little other purpose, than to gratify the vanity of its 
possessor, unless good manners lend their magic aid to 
show it to the greatest advantage. They perform the 
same office for the mental aliment which we derive 
from social intercourse, that good cookery does for 
the aliment of the body. They prepare, they dress, 
and they give taste and zest to that which otherwise 
would be quite insipid, — if not nauseating. They ren- 
der the plainest food of the understanding palatable ; 
and they impart an exquisite relish to that which is 
intrinsically good. So much- indeed, depends upon 
our acquiring them, that whether we wish to teach, 
or to be taught, to please, or to be pleased, — to bestow 
or to receive homage of any kind worthy of rational 
regard, they are equally necessary. Would you be 
respected, honoured, and obeyed ; or esteemed, loved, 
and cherished, — good manners must be continually 
practised, or neither purpose can ever be accomplish- 
ed. Once for all, therefore, my young friends, be- 
fore 1 dismiss this subject, let me most earnestly en- 
treat you, so far to confide in my experience and ad- 
vice, as never for one moment to be off your guard 
against every propensity, sentiment, or habit that may 
tend to counteract your efforts to acquire this greatest 
charm of social life. 



77 

The topick next to be considered, is that of accom- 
plishments. And here so wide a field presents itself, 
that I feel at some loss how to commence. 1 am well 
aware, that if I confined myself merely to those mat- 
ters usually called accomplishments, in the fashiona- 
ble language of the day, I might comprise the whole 
in the terms dancing, music, drawing and dress. But 
I hope, before I have done, to teach you better things; 
and thoroughly to convince you that knowledge and 
goodness, together with the proper mode of applying 
both to use, constitute the true and only accomplish- 
ments really worthy of female regard. Not that I 
would have you entirely neglect the former, where 
good opportunities offer of gaining a competent skill 
in these arts. But then, I wish you always to view 
them as means rather than ends; — as very subaltern 
aids to far more important objects; and as mere pass- 
ports to good society, instead of the sole talents which 
are to give you estimation and value, after you get 
there. To tutor, and 1 may add — to torture, (as is 
too often the case,) the fingers and toes, at the ex- 
pense of the head ; is to prefer animal instinct and 
muscular* power, to reason, and intellectual vigour. 
And what else can it be called, where months and 
years are devoted, almost solely to dancing, music, 
and drawing, — frequently in despite both of physical 
incapacity, and a total want of taste for any one, or all 
of them put together ? Full as much time is often devot- 
ed to the arts of dress, and persona] decoration, — appa- 
rently without thought or consciousness, that the sea- 
7 



78 

son for these to have much influence, compared to the 
long and wearisome periods of middle life and old age, 
— (wearisome at least, to those who have made no 
preparation for either,) — when all the wealth of Gol- 
conda and Potosi combined, would utterly fail to con- 
tinue our personal attractions, — is but as a day con- 
trasted with half a century. It is true, that in most, — 
if not in all of the modern systems of female educa- 
tion, you will hear much about the necessity of adorn- 
ing the mind in preference to the body. But the preach- 
ing in commendation of the first, while the practice is 
all in favour of the last, might as well be let alone en- 
tirely : for very few individuals, — especially young 
ones, will listen to precept in opposition to example ; 
although you may bring Seneca and Epictetus, and 
Addison and Johnson, and the whole tribe of moral- 
ists, with Solomon's Proverbs, and Ecclesiastes to 
help you. If both parents and teachers show little 
zeal in recommending; — indeed, unless they abso- 
lutely require that the first and chief attention be, to 
the acquisition of useful knowledge, — such as we de- 
rive from reading and studying the best authors ; — 
and unless the children themselves, who are«the sub- 
jects of such requirement, will sedulously obey such 
recommendation and command, enforced by all the 
authority of good example ; — the great purpose of 
education will be either feebly and ineffectually pur- 
sued, or totally neglected. We may have swarms of 
gay, thoughtless, skipping, daubing, and flaunting 
females, who may make very passible rivals of apes 



79 

in agility ; who may astound our ears, and dazzle our 
eyes by the rapidity of their fingers on the keys of the 
piano ; — who may draw and paint flowers and ani- 
mals, which we may possibly distinguish — after the 
name of the thing to be imitated, is written under or 
over them ; and who can accumulate and arrange on 
their persons all. the colours of the rainbow in every 
possible form and fashion, from the simplest to the 
most fantastic : — but as for daughters, sisters, and 
wives, capable of conversing rationally and agreeably 
on any subject of allowable amusement or instruction; 
and calculated to be the pride and ornament of every 
genteel, well informed circle in our country, — there 
will be no such beings among us. 

Let nothing which I have said, be construed into a 
wish to degrade below their proper level either dan- 
cing, music, drawing, or dress; nor will L object to 
the term accomplishment being applied to them all, 
after you suffer me to stamp on them what 1 believe to 
be their appropriate value. Dancing, 1 consider an 
exhilirating, healthful exercise, particularly well adap- 
ted to correct the very pernicious effects of the seden- 
tary habits which most ladies contract in early life ; 
and calculated, (if properly taught) to give an easy, 
graceful carriage to the body. Music is a most grate- 
ful recreation, capable of imparting both to the per- 
former and audience, an entirely innocent, delightful, 
and sublime pleasure. Drawing and painting are also 
highly laudable accomplishments ; but they should 



80 






not be cultivated, (after a fair trial) without a decided 
taste, and clearly marked talent for them. And as 
for dress, the only allowable attention to it may be 
comprised in the following simple injunction : — be al- 
ways clean, neat, habited according to your circum- 
stances and situations in life , and so far in the fashion, 
as not to attract notice either for excess, or deficiency 
in the prevailing mode. The perfection of good danc- 
ing does not consist so much in the variety, and acti- 
vity of the steps which you display, as in leading the 
spectators to believe that you can do with ease, much 
more than you attempt. They should never be put 
to the pain of witnessing struggles to execute far more, 
ihan you are able to perform. The excellence of a 
musical exhibition depends rather upon shewing that 
you understand and feel the characteristick beauties of 
the composer whose pieces you are playing, than in 
causing your hearers to think more of your fingers, 
and of the use you are trying to make of them, than 
of the composition to which they are listening. Make 
them enjoy this first, and they will afterwards be cer- 
tain to give you the chief credit of the enjoyment. 
Drawing and painting, to be admired by competent 
judges must require no labels nor advertisements to 
tell what you would be at; but must exhibit striking 
resemblances to the objects designed to be depicted. 
And lastly, with respect to dress, — it should be to the 
person, what eloquence is to knowledge : — it should 
adorn, not bedizzen ; — it should make us value the 
wearer, rather than the things worn; and it should 



81 

lead us to admire and to love the various qualities of 
the mind inferred from the style, and quality of the 
apparel itself. Much more depends upon this, than 
most young people imagine ; for persons of much ob- 
servation and knowledge of the world, always form 
their opinion of strangers, as much from their dress, 
as from any other circumstance : — perhaps more ; be- 
cause it is ever the first, and often the only one that 
presents itself. Thus neatness and simplicity of dress, 
always present to experienced observers, an idea of 
simplicity and purity of character ; — habiliments well 
adapted to the situation and circumstances of the 
wearer, (if her own choice,) are ever considered a 
sure pledge of prudence, economy, and highly lauda- 
ble humility; while the contrary style leads them as 
certainly to the conclusion, that the ruling passions of 
the individual are, inordinate vanity, sensual propen- 
sities, presumptuous arrogance ; and a total disregard 
of every thing like a due proportioning of expendi- 
ture to income. Upon this last practice, after all, much 
more of the comfort and enjoyment of life depends, 
than upon almost any other single thing that can be 
named. If the foregoing remarks are just, a single 
additional ribband or feather, when you are dressed 
up to the utmost justifiable limit that you can afford, 
may turn the scale against you in the calculations of 
those who are sitting in judgment upon your charac- 
ters. How highly important then, is it, thatyou should 
contemplate this subject of dress, more in a moral 

point of view, than it is usually considered. For pity 

7* 



82 

sake do not deceive yourselves in this really serious 
matter. By a prudent economy in dress, you gain 
cent per cent — an hundred fold in regard to character; 
whereas, if you go but a span or two beyond what 
your circumstances can well afford, you may lose 
more than can ever be regained in the estimation of 
all whose good opinion you would wish to possess. 
Not that the reflecting part of mankind are apt to 
judge young people too rigorously in these particu- 
lars ; for they are ready to make great allowances for 
the influence of example, the contagion of extrava- 
gance, and the general thoughtlessness of youth. But 
in no man's mind, w ho deserves to be called a man, 
nor in the minds of your own sex either, of such of 
them at least, as have any common sense, does habi- 
tual prodigality in dress, ever excite any other senti- 
ment, than commiseration, or contempt. For whom 
then, will such folly be practised? Surely not for 
yourselves; — unless indeed, Narcissus like, you fall 
in love with your own shadows, and delight to con- 
template the bedizzened figures which your mirrors 
present to you, when all the money you can rake and 
scrape has been lavished on your own persons. If 
the idea is conquest to be achieved over our sex, alas ! 
there are none to be caught by such a bait, but such 
as are very far below even the sentiment of contempt. 
A few men-monkies might possibly be entrapped by 
it ; but then the mischief would be, that they would 
no sooner be caught, than the captors would sorely 
repent their success: — for these travesty-men (if I 



83 

may so express myself) of our race, are always too 
much in love with themselves, to be capable of loving 
any thing else : so that all your expense, and care, 
and labour, would be entirely thrown away. A real 
monkey would be a far superior prize ; — inasmuch as 
a few dollars would suffice for the purchase in the first 
instance; and a moderate supply of nuts and cakes 
afterwards, would secure the gratitude and personal 
attachment of the captive; or, at the worst, this pet 
could be resold, or given away ;— neither of which 
could be done with his prototype. 

To conclude the topick of dress,— you may set it 
down as a rule without an exception, that an eager, 
passionate desire after new fashions in apparel, mani- 
fested by continual, and restless researches for rare 
and costly habiliments, is an invariable proof of a 
light, weak, and frivolous mind : — for neither men nor 
women of good sense ever bestow more thought on 
the fashions of the day, than to conform to them, 
when no moral consideration forbids, so far as not to 
attract notice for a studied departure from them. 

Some general reflections here suggest themselves, 
which I beg leave to present to you in regard to the 
irrationality of the usual preference given to what are 
commonly called fashionable accomplishments, over 
the more solid, and truly estimable attainments of 
pure intellect, The first in point of value, are to the 
last, what shadow is to substance; what the mere or* 



84 

namental decorations of a building are to the essen- 
tial parts of the structure; — in short, what time is to 
eternity. A few illustrations taken from common life, 
may serve perhaps to place this subject in a more fa- 
miliar and striking light. What mariner, (for in- 
stance,) unless he were a great fool, or stark mad, 
would neglect, in preparing his sea-stores for a long 
voyage, to provide the salt-meats and bread-stuffs, 
deemed indispensable on all such occasions ; and con- 
tent himself with putting up, only a pot of sweet- 
meats ? yet, what better claim has any young person 
to be thought in her senses, who in getting ready to 
embark on the great ocean of life, would be satisfied 
to learn a few tricks with her feet and hands, which 
have little or no power to please, after the short sea- 
son of youth has passed away ; and be entirely un- 
provided with all the essential stores of the mind and 
heart, which alone can bring to a prosperous issue, 
a voyage of such difficulty and danger, as that of 
life, must unavoidably be to every individual of either 
sex, who attains old age ? These essential stores, are 
virtue, wisdom, and knowledge ; and they perform 
that part for the soul, which solid, substantial food, 
properly taken, does for the bo^y ; — they insure sani- 
ty, health, and vigour of intellect; while those things 
usually called accomplishments, — if considered the 
main objects of life, have all the enervating and dele- 
terious influence of intoxicating liquors : — frivolity, 
idleness, vanity, and aversion to all useful pursuits in- 
variably follow. When used occasionally, to give 



85 

pungency and flavour to what might otherwise pail 
upon some appetites, they act as salutary condiments j 
but if made our daily bread, nothing can be more in- 
sipid, tiresome, and really valueless. For some far- 
ther, and highly entertaining illustrations of the vari- 
ous analogies which may be traced between the food 
of the mind, and that of the body, let me refer you to 
Goldsmith's admirably humourous poem called " Re- 
taliation ;" which reference may serve as a suitable in- 
troduction to the third topick of the present Lecture, — 
this is — Conversation. 

Although no very specifick rules can be given on this 
subject, yet there are certain general ones so well 
established in all good society, that I must not leave 
you ignorant of them ; at the same time that I cau* 
tion you against mistaking the occasional violation of 
them which well-bred people sometimes commit, for a 
license to follow their example in these particulars. — 
The first rule which I will mention, as being of more 
universal application, than any other, is, that when 
you converse with individuals of either sex, you should 
talk to them about their affairs, rather than your own ; 
for egotism is ever, either ridiculous, tiresome, or dis- 
gusting, and never fails in some degree to degrade 
those who are guilty of it, in the estimation of their 
auditors. Indeed, nothing but the intimacy of friend- 
ship will justify speaking much of your own concerns; 
and even with friends, the everlasting topick of self 
may be urged too far. It is a sure indication of the 



86 

total absence or great deficiency of certain qualities, — 
such as sympathy, benevolence, and disinterested at- 
tachment to others, without which we have no right 
to expect ever to make friends, or to preserve them. — 
Next to the foregoing rule comes the art of silence, 
which (although strange to say so,) really constitutes 
an essential part of good conversation : — for do we 
not frequently hear of "speaking eyes'" and "the 
eloquence of silence ?" The meaning of which is, that 
if you would be thought an agreeable companion, 
you must learn to perform the part of a good listener : 
to do which, all that is necessary is, to give your fixed 
and undivided attention to whomsoever may be speak- 
ing to you. This may be done without hypocrisy ; — 
the least act of which is altogether unjustifiable on any 
occasion. When you listen attentively to whatever is 
said to you, it does not necessarily follow, that you are 
pleased with what you hear ; because common civili- 
ty, and the invariable laws of good breeding, require 
you to do so. But, if you can really feel an interest 
in what is said to you, and of course, manifest it by 
your looks, it will be so much the better. The self- 
love of mankind will always give you credit for abili- 
ty to say something better than you yourself probably 
could say; where your silence appears to proceed 
from a desire to hear them talk, rather than to talk 
yourself. It is certainly best that you should be qua- 
lified both to speak and to listen well to others; but 
if you cannot succeed in both characters, the second 
GLould be preferred :— for a good listener will always 



87 

be a more acceptable member in general society, than 
a great talker ;— simply because self-love is a mnch 
more common and abiding passion, than sympathy. 
The medium between a continual prating, and a si- 
lence interrupted, only by yes and no answers, is the 
golden mean in conversation : for the first is usually a 
proof of a trifling, vain, and thoughtless mind ; 
while the others are the essence of vulgar breeding. 
They are the ordinary resort to conceal ignorance, or 
to affect knowledge, of those who foolishly make a 
literal application of the adage, " that a still tongue 
makes a wise head." To converse freely, without 
being obtrusive, — where your conversation is evi- 
dently sought, will never be considered ill manners in 
any society in which a young lady shou!d be found. 

In regard to the topicks, the range is sufficiently 
ample, to satisfy all tastes, and to exercise all capaci- 
ties. Provided a lady will studiously, and entirely 
avoid all such subjects as even border on indelicacy, 
slander, detraction, vulgarity, angry disputation, im- 
morality, and irreligion, she may travel without res- 
traint over the whole circle of the arts and sciences, 
using no other precaution than never to talk (except 
by way of inquiry) of what she does not understand. 
Every thing calculated to improve her in innocent wit, 
humour, pleasantry, literature, science, morals, reli- 
gion, — in short in useful knowledge of any kind 
adapted to her circumstances and situation in life, is 
a proper subject of conversation for any lady who 



88 



chuses it. And within these limits, none surely need 
ever be at a loss for something to say, which may suit 
both the occasion, and the company wherein they 
may be. 

Good conversation has been happily styled, in the 
language of poetry, " tbe feast of reason, and the flow 
of soul." To pursue this figure, borrowed from the 
pleasures of the palate, a little farther, we may say, 
that the substantial ones which should compose the 
chief part of our food, should be something improv- 
ing to our knowledge, our wisdom, and our virtue ; 
while the desert, — the custards, the whipt-syllabubs, 
and trifle of the entertainment might be some of the 
lighter kinds of poetry, the novels, and the plays that 
form so large, (much too large,) a part of every 
fashionable library. Our present state of society 
will not admit of a lady's being entirely ignorant of 
these too highly valued matters : but I would have 
her familiarity with them extend no farther than to 
show, when they are mentioned, and quoted, that they 
are of her acquaintance. Just as there are persons in 
the world, — such as highly distinguished characters, 
of whom it would be discreditable not to know enough 
to tell who and what they are ; so there are certain 
books of which we must not be utterly ignorant, if we 
would be well received in polite society : — only take 
care not to attach a value to them beyond what they 
are intrinsically worth. These should be considered 
as bearing the same relation to the furniture of our 



89 

minds, that the fashion of our clothes does, to the ap- 
parel of the body. Each is rendered in a certain de- 
gree necessary by the despotick, and often arbitrary 
dictation of the arbiters of both. Obey we must and 
ought to do so, if no moral, nor religious obligation 
forbid. This, without a solitary exception, is always 
the plain, obvious, and unalterably established limit, 
beyond which you should never venture to pass in any 
of your compliances with either the customs, manners, 
habits, or opinions of society. To follow these, when 
vicious, is to be both weak and wicked ; to adopt 
them when innocent and proper, is one of the surest 
proofs of a wise and well-regulated mind. 

The sum and substance of the foregoing remarks, 
amount to this. Would you be praised for your man- 
ners, admired for your accomplishments, and loved 
and esteemed for your powers of conversation by all 
whose good opinion is worth gaining ; but one course 
can be pursued with any rational prospect of success. 
And that course is, — to strive without ceasing, to ex- 
cel in all these particulars. Without some effort we 
can do nothing estimable ; — without long continued, 
unintermitting exertion, no essential improvement ei- 
ther in understanding, or knowledge can possibly be 
made : and without such a portion of self-respect, as 
will make us ashamed of being deficient in any thing 
which we ought to know, or to practice, but little pro- 
gress can ever be made towards that degree of attain- 
able perfection which all may reach, if they will only 
8 



90 






exercise sufficient resolution to persevere in the pur- 
suit. This is the principal quality which creates the 
striking differences that we observe in the capacities 
and characters of mankind. For these differences 
depend much more upon their powers of fixed and 
unwearied attention to every thing which they try to 
learn, than upon any natural and important disparity 
in their capabilities. In general it may be said, — 
especially of mental acquirements, that the will to 
make them, usually gives the power : and the remark 
may be extended, but with somewhat more excep- 
tions, to personal accomplishments. 
i 

Let none then, ever despair of success in their stu- 
dies and pursuits ; but always rest assured, that to be 
what you wish, and what you must feel confident that 
your parents and friends, anxiously desire you to be, 
the chief things necessary, are close attention, and 
steady, earnest, indefatigable perseverance. To do 
your best always, is to take the true road to excel- 
lence. 



ASSOCIATES, Friends, and Connexions are the 
subjects of the present address; and I must beg your 
particular attention during the time which I shall de- 
vote to them ; because nothing has yet been said upon 
any topick of more vital importance both to your 
temporal and eternal interests. "Tell me with whom 
you go, and I will tell you what you do," — is an ad- 
age in confirmation of this fact, to the truth of which 
a long succession of ages has borne ample testi- 
mony. 

There probably never yet lived that human being, 
so entirely abstracted from society ; — so completely 
independent of all those circumstances which usually 
attach us to our present state of existence, as to be 
able to command any thing — even resembling com- 
fort, — much less happiness, if absolutely withdrawn 
from the world. Indeed, so much of the enjoyment, 
or misery of life depends upon the friendships which 
we contract, and the connexions which we form, that 
we cannot possibly be too cautious in regard to either. 
Judgment, rather than feeling, should direct o»*.r 
choice in both cases; or at least, the conclusions 
of the first, should ever ratify the impulses of the 



92 

last ; for if the former says no, while the latter says 
yes, you may be absolutely certain that judgment is 
right, and ought to be cheerfully obeyed. It is true, 
that both may be corrupted by neglect, and bad edu- 
cation ; but if you have been brought up as you 
ought to be, — " in the nurture and admonition of the 
Lord ;" — if you have been taught to rely entirely 
on his heavenly guidance for every determination of 
your will consistent with your free agency, in relation 
to all that concerns your happiness, you may confi- 
dently trust that the intimations of the understanding 
are his special gift to controul the wanderings of the 
heart. Away then, forever away, with all those silly 
notions, derived from the still more silly books where 
you find them, that feeling alone should direct your 
choice in the selection of your friends ; or govern 
you in forming the yet more intimate and endearing 
union of marriage. " All for love, or the world well 
lost" — may possibly be in the ears of some young la- 
dies, a very captivating title for a play ; but to act on 
such principles in real life, is miserably poor sense, 
and still worse morality. The girl who hopes to find 
happiness either in friendship or matrimony, must 
take special care, that the source from which she ex- 
pects to draw this felicity be pure ; or she may calcu- 
late too surely, upon drinking the bitter waters of re- 
pentance for the rest of her life. She must call no 
person friend, whose morals are suspected, whose dis- 
position is decidedly grovelling and selfish ; — she 
should call no one husband, whose temper is ungo- 



93 

vernable, — whose mind is sordid, — whose habits are 
vicious, and whose principles are depraved. 

But these are great land-marks not easily mistaken, 
even by those who are only a few degrees above 
idiots ; and such as disregard them, well deserve all 
the suffering which certainly follows their neglect. — 
There are however, many nicer shades of character, 
that should be considered as marking iheir possessors 
for avoidance, which require more discrimination to 
detect, and greater self-controul to guard against 
them ; because they are not unfrequently, in a great 
measure concealed under the specious and imposing 
garb of finished Hypocrisy. In proof of this, how 
often do we find the deepest art, and the most unsus- 
pecting innocence associated together under the guise 
of Friendship ? How frequently do we behold the 
most incongruous characters, — evidently so at least, 
to every body but themselves, connected together by 
what they are pleased to dignify with this epithet? 
Indeed, so gross and preposterous is the abuse of tin's 
term, that we daily hear it applied in such a manner, 
as to mean, (if in truth it has in these cases any mean- 
ing at all,) almost any thing, rather than that hallowed 
union of heart and soul which it was originally de- 
signed to designate. Thus, you will often see a party 
of young ladies, casually brought together, without 
any previous acquaintance; — singing, dancing, and 
chatting with each other for a few days ;— then inter- 
changing what they call secrets, and vows of inviola- 
ble regard; and by the end of a week, wind up a!! 
8* 



94 

by becoming most violent friends ;— -although they 
may differ most materially in talents, acquirements, 
dispositions, and in every other particular calculated 
to form a lasting bond of union. When they sepa- 
rate, there is no end, for a few fleeting months, to the 
letters which they will scribble to each other. In 
these you will find them, — although not precisely in 
the state of Shakespeare's lover, — "sighing like fur- 
nace," yet thrown into a thousand hot and chilly fits 
of over-weening confidence, or desperate jealousy in 
regard to each other's affections. All this works off 
after a while, as all violent emotions necessarily must. 
The heretofore busy correspondence begins to flag ; — - 
the letters, which at first, followed in quick succes- 
sion, — like hail in a thunder storm, are now " few 
and far between ;" until— behold ! the next time these 
angeHnas, and amaryllises, he. &c. meet, they scarce- 
ly know each other. Idle, and ridiculous as all this 
really is, it might perhaps, be tolerated ; — since once, 
at least, in most person's lives, they must be expected 
to play the fool ; — were it not for the complete waste 
of all the precious period of adolescense, which 
such trifling occasions ; as well as the incapacity for 
real friendship so apt to be super-induced by it. Let 
not the foregoing remarks be understood as express- 
ing disapprobation of epistolary correspondence in 
general ; for this may be advantageously carried on, 
where no sentiment of attraction exists on either side, 
but mutual good opinion. All I meant to say, was, 
that neither friendship j nor love should ever be express- 



95 






ed, where it is not sincerely felt ; for you may depend 
on it, as a truth which your whole future experience 
will confirm ; that your better feelings are not to be 
thrown away, and spent upon worthless objects, any 
more than your worldly wealth ; or you may live to 
see the day, when you will have no feelings at all, but 
such as begin and end, entirely in self. 

The habit of speaking of every thing, whether tri- 
vial, or important, in the superlative degree, is a great 
damper ; — if not an effectual bar to real friendship. — 
In a word, it may be considered a rule having but ve- 
ry few exceptions, that the mind is light and trifling, 
and the heart cold, insensible, and hypocritical, exact' 
ly in proportion as the tongue is flippant and extrava- 
gant in lavishing upon every object without discrimi- 
nation, expressions of praise, or dispraise, fondness or 
aversion, unqualified preference or unlimited condem- 
nation. Vi hen you hear such phrases as ; — "Oh ! 
how interesting, how delightful, how charming, how 
lovely, how exquisite," with many others of the same 
stamp, profusely and indiscriminately poured forth 
upon men and monkeys, girls and kittens, boys and 
squirrels, books and book-muslins, flowers and butter- 
flies, you should take care not to place yourselves in 
the way of making one in such a catalogue. All the 
choice phrases of unqualified approbation and intense 
affection having been already appropriated to various 
ordinary objects animate, and inanimate, there would 
be no language left to speak of you in an appropriate 



96 

manner, should it strike the fancy of one of these inef- 
fable young ladies to make a friend of you. Beware 
then, both in yourselves and others of this sentimen- 
tality, — this exuberant, illimitable overflowing of su- 
perlatives upon every trivial occasion ; or you will 
soon be in the situation of a turk without his opium, 
or a drunkard deprived of his alcohol. Langour of 
spirits, taedium of body, and perpetual mankishness 
of mind, must inevitably ensue from this most irration- 
al and prodigal expenditure of feeling ; for it is not 
in human nature always to live up to the highest 
possible point of enjoyment, either mental or phy- 
sical. 

The preceding observations are chiefly general 
cautions, to guard you against the fatal error of a bad 
choice, either of friends, or of those who may be unit- 
ed with you in the sacred, indissoluble bonds of wed- 
lock. 1 shall descend to more minute particulars, af- 
ter adding one more general warning on the subject of 
friendships with individuals of our sex. These are of- 
ten dangerous, and never entirely safe, if founded 
upon any other basis, than esteem for each other's 
mental endowments and virtues; or carried beyond 
the most guarded conduct in conversation, in deport- 
ment, and in the interchange of such friendly offices, as 
ladies and gentlemen may very properly, and most in- 
nocently perform for each other. You will find in ma- 
ny books which have great currency, — at least in the 
fashionable world, that much has been said in recom- 



97 

mendation of what the authors have been pleased to 
christen by the very specious term, " Platonic Love." 
This, in plain English, means such a regard between 
two individuals of the different sexes, as might lead to 
marriage, but is never designed to do so. Beware, 
I beseech you, beware of all such equivocal connex- 
ions. The man who invites you to form them, is in- 
variably, either a foolish coxcomb, or a deep, de- 
signing villain. If he means nothing more, than to 
repeat what he has read in some silly, or vicious ro- 
mance, without well understanding it, you may ex- 
cuse it, as the vain babbling of one, whose heart is 
as empty as his head. But if his understanding is 
such, as to forbid the belief, that he speaks at random, 
future avoidance, and silent resentment should be your 
only reply. The truth is, that scarcely any two things 
in nature are more incompatible with each other, than 
the affection required to form what is called a platonic 
regard ; and the continual restraint under which those 
who are the objects of it, are expected to live, if they 
would remain innocent. Should a woman thus en- 
tangled, continue guiltless of every thing but the fol- 
ly of the act; — poor indeed, wretchedly poor will be 
her compensation for the world's constant suspicion of 
her character; and for the shame and confusion which 
unavoidably ensue to herself, when she comes to her 
senses. But what an appalling picture does the other 
side of the canvass present ! a being shunned and 
despised by all the respectable part of society ; — re- 
jected and abandoned by every one who could console 



98 






or reclaim her ; and banished forever, from the walks 
of purity and virtue, she lives in infamy, and dies — 
in utter despair ! 

I will now proceed to point out certain defects of 
character, which render those who are so unfortunate 
as to labour under them, incapable of true friendship. 
Not that you should be too precipitate in determining 
where, and in what degree they exist ; nor too hard, 
after you certainly have found them, in pronounc- 
ing on the impossibility of such a change of heart, 
as may convert the undeserving into meritorious ob- 
jects of esteem and affection. All things are possible 
with God : and there are no instances in which he 
displays the omnipotence of his power, more admira- 
ble, than those wherein great reformation of charac- 
ter is effected by the influence of his spirit, controul- 
ing, regulating, and directing dispositions which 
at first appeared utterly irreclaimable. If you can 
once find a female friend of this stamp ; — one who 
has safely gone through the fiery ordeal of violent 
passions for a considerable time rankling in the heart, 
but at last expelled ; and in their place the all-effici- 
ent virtues of self-controul, benevolence, tender affec- 
tion, mildness of temper, generosity, and forbearance, 
—such a character is above all price. Here you may 
safely repose your trust ; foV here you may expect to 
find not only the feelings which should create and ce- 
ment friendship, but the necessary energy to render it 
active and persevering in all difficulties and dangers; 



90 

as well as the indispensable readiness to make due al- 
lowance for all your weaknesses and faults, from the 
recollection of similar, and perhaps greater failings. 

The first character against which I will caution you, 
as being altogether incapable of friendship, is the 
smooth, wily, go^sipping hypocrite, who deals much 
in her professions of regard for you; and in indiscri- 
minate flattery to your face, both of your faults and 
your good qualities. Thus, if you have a violent 
temper, she is continually praising " warm feelings :" 
should you carry your plainness of speech to the extent 
of rudeness — she extols candour : if you happen to 
be fonder of saving money, and of what is called, 
" being a great manager," than of anything else, she 
is constantly applauding economy and good house- 
wifery : are you over-solicitous about intermeddling 
with other people's affairs, she takes care always to 
supply you with abundant food to keep alive this evil 
propensity, in short, do or say what you will, she 
never discovers the slightest concern about your im- 
provement,, either moral or intellectual; You can ne- 
ver be mistaken in setting down such a one. as entire- 
ly too selfish ever to be attached to any body but her- 
self. Your peace is deeply concerned in having as lit- 
tle as possible to do with her ; for of all the workers 
of mischief in social life, she leads the van, pre-emi- 
nently conspicuous. 

Next to the preceding, I behold in imagination a 






100 






motley group of individuals, among whom it would be 
hard to find any materials out of which to make a 
friend ; having so many objectionable qualities both 
of mind and heart, that I scarcely know with which 
to begin. From those of irritable, quarrelsome, un- 
governable tempers, you could never expect much of 
the reciprocal enjoyments of friendship ; for being 
rarely at peace with themselves, it would be morally 
impossible that they should long be so with you. 
The discontented and complaining, are too constant- 
ly and exclusively absorbed in their own thoughts and 
feelings to be capable either of entering into yours, — 
or of sympathizing in them sufficiently, to satisfy the 
just and rational claims of disinterested regard. Those 
of suspicious and jealous tempers require more atten- 
tion to all their unreasonable whims and caprices, than 
is compatible with a sentiment so confiding, and so 
fearless of such selfishness, as friendship. And as for 
the thoughtless, giddy, brainless butterflies — all dress 
and all show, that flutter about you, only in the hal- 
cyon days of health and prosperity ; — why it would 
be extreme folly to believe them susceptible of any- 
other feeling, than the vain, preposterous admiration 
of their own worthless persons ; and the eager desire 
to captivate some of our sex, equally valueless with 
themselves. It would be nearly as rational to expect 
to make friends of so many parrots and peacocks. I 
need scarcely caution you against women of coarse, 
indelicate conversation ; rude, masculine manners : 
and apparently unfeeling hearts. They could not be 



101 

made, even to comprehend the meaning of the word 
friend; and are indeed, sufficiently repulsive of them- 
selves to deter you from cultivating their acquaint- 
ance: they form a kind of intermediate class between 
the sexes ; and are unfit either for male or female so- 
ciety. But there is — unfortunately for mankind, a 
description of women, of such a prepossessing exte- 
rior ; — of such fascinating powers of conversation ; — in 
a word, so well calculated in every respect, to excite 
the admiration and regard of the young and inex- 
perienced, that you may contract a friendship for them, 
before you are at all aware of your danger. 1 allude to 
such as have no fixed principles of conduct; no settled 
rule of rectitude, but such as the fashion of the day pre- 
scribes ; — no aim in life, but to be admired for qualities, 
and attainments, whether good or bad, that attract 
most eclat ; in fine, women who have no abiding sense 
of religion. That there are many such, is too true to 
be denied ; but that there should be, is not less lamenta- 
ble, than surprising. For the situation of females in 
this life, unavoidably exposes them so much more 
than men, to all those various and complicated suffer- 
ings both of body and mind, for which there is no 
other alleviation nor cure, but religion ; that a woman 
destitute of it, should be viewed almost as a monster in 
creation. Avoid all such, 1 implore you, as you would 
the contagion of pestilential disease : for however well 
established you may believe your own morals to be, 
they cannot long withstand the seductive influence of 
such companions, if admitted to all the intimacies and 
9 



102 

privileges of friendship. Let no part of the foregoing 
remarks be construed into a wish to palliate the want 
of religion in my own sex. As it regards another 
world, the obligation to possess it, is equally impera- 
tive upon both males and females. But it is certainly 
true, that the forms, the customs, and prevalent opin- 
ions of society render it easy for men to do without 
reproach, or much loss of reputation, many things re- 
sulting from the want of religion, which would not, 
for a moment, be tolerated in women. These licences 
also enable them, — by flying for refuge to many prac- 
tices, altogether forbidden by society to the other sex, 
at least for a while to stifle, — if not entirely to subdue 
those compunctious visitings of conscience which a 
merciful God has furnished as the best means of re- 
clamation from vice. I could never see any other 
reason for this, but that men have more power in re- 
gulating and establishing public opinion, than wo- 
men : which power, to the eternal disgrace of the law- 
makers, they most shamefully abuse, to gloss over, and 
excuse, — if not openly to justify their own faults and 
vices ; and in proportion as they have done this, to 
mark for ten-fold reprobation similar defects of cha- 
racter in your sex. This is selfishness, injustice, and 
meanness combined ; for in the eye of God, the de- 
grees of criminality in vice can never depend on the 
sex of the perpetrator. 

But to return to the more pleasing theme of friend- 
ship. Would you know what a true friend is, and how 



103 

to secure such a one for life, take the following descrip- 
tion ; and then use the utmost exertion to resemble 
the portrait. For to render friendship lasting, there 
must be nearly equal excellence between the parties 
to such a union ; although this excellence need not 
display itself precisely in the same mode. A true 
friend is one who can understand all your thoughts 
and actions ; can sincerely sympathize in all your 
feelings, whether of joy or sorrow ; and who will cling 
still closer to you when adversity frowns, or dangers 
threaten ; and when the pain of bodily disease, or the 
agony of mental affliction crushes you to the earth, 
than during the festive season of uninterrupted pros- 
perity. She must be warm-hearted, good-tempered, 
generous, easily appeased, unsuspicious, scrupulously 
regardful of truth and sincerity, cheerful, anxiously 
desirous both for your improvement and her own, and 
above all — of spotless morals. If you can have merit* 
and good fortune sufficient to secure the affections of 
one thus eminently gifted, you should treasure her up 
in your heart of hearts; for her value is as inestima- 
ble, as it is uncommon. 

And now, my young friends, with respect to that 
still more important, and closer union of interests and 
affections, which all of you must wish to form, — 
should you marry, 1 have that to say, which it much 
behooves you to listen to with undivided attention. For 
although some years must yet elapse before many of 
you can be qualified duly to estimate the perilous na 



104 

ture of the engagement into which you will enter; — 
the arduous and often afflicting duties you will have 
to fulfil; and above all, the sacred inviolability of the 
various and complicated obligations which you will 
be solemnly pledged before your God, and the world 
to discharge; yet the subject is too intimately con- 
nected both with your temporal and eternal happiness 
to be altogether omitted in such an address as the pre- 
sent. The felicity which most persons, — especially 
young ones, anticipate from this union, is subject un- 
der the most fortunate circumstances, to so many ca- 
sualties and painful interruptions, that should it be 
formed, (as is much too often the case,) from mere 
accidental and sudden liking, — where a pretty face, 
or handsome person is the only inducement; — from 
mere motives of convenience, avarice, or ambition ; 
in a word, from any other exciting cause, than a tho- 
rough conviction of mutual regard founded upon a 
well ascertained congeniality of tastes, tempers, ta- 
lents, and moral qualifications, — why, future misery 
must be the certain consequence, as well as the just 
reward of such a rash, and really immoral procedure. 
When we reflect how utterly impossible it is, for the 
married life to be even a tolerably happy one, with- 
out using the utmost precaution to guard against every 
circumstance which can mar its felicity ; it seems truly 
unaccountable, unless we consider mankind nearly on 
a footing with the beasts that perish, that so many 
marriages should be contracted between parties who 
appear utterly to disregard every consideration which 



105 

should precede so all-important a change of condi- 
tion. Would it be credible, — if we had not daily ob- 
servation of the fact, that beings capable of thought, 
reflection, and judgment, should deliberately enter 
into a contract to endure until death; — a contract ex- 
pressly stipulated to be for the mutual happiness ot 
the parties concerned ; and yet entirely neglect to as- 
certain before-hand, that both parties possessed the 
means indispensably necessary for its faithful fulfil- 
ment f When we look around us at the multitude of 
married people whom we know, and see how many 
are "paired, not matched;" — how very few appear to 
have spent even a moment's thought on the foregoing 
momentous circumstance; it seems indeed, passing 
strange, that more of those who take the same step 
after them, should not derive more benefit from wit- 
nessing so many woful failures to attain the professed 
object — happiness. Yet we still continue to perceive 
the same most trivial, and often degrading motives 
actuating the parties concerned. Thus the colour 
and fashion of a ribband favourably disposed ; — a song 
from the voice, or some musical instrument; — a caper 
or two, successfully cut at a dance; — a few stale, 
common-place-compliments about "rosy cheeks, lovely 
eyes, coral lips, ivory teeth, and alabaster skin," con- 
fided in pretended secrecy to some mutual friend, with 
the express design that they shall be repeated to the 
objects of them ; often decide forever, the fate of the 
giddy hosts of fair Amandas, and their most devoted 
Corydons, whom we behold fluttering their little hour 
9* 



106 






on the stage of life, and then vanishing forever. Blind 
as bats to every thing but the gratification of the mo- 
ment, they appear totally unaware, that many of the 
consequences of these apparently insignificant, and 
evanescent circumstances, are to follow them into the 
regions of eternity, there to bear witness against them 
before a tribunal whose sentence is irreversible. 

Sometimes the contiguity of landed estates makes a 
match. At other times, wealth of any kind on one 
side, and the want of it on the other, decide the great 
question to marry, or not to marry. Then again, a 
ma./iage is contracted for no better reason, than be- 
cause the lady perhaps, is the daughter of some great 
man ; or the gentleman perchance, is a great man 
himself. But what is worse, if possible, than all, the 
desire to be revenged on a rival, or truant admirer ; 
or the simple fear of living single, not unfrequently 
settles the point. That disappointment and misery for 
life should be the consequence of all such marriages, 
should be so far from exciting any surprise, that the 
real wonder is, how any of them thus made, can pos- 
sibly turn out differently. Who that sows only tares, 
can ever expect to reap wheat ? Who that makes their 
bed of thorns, can rationally calculate upon their 
turning into roses? In short, who that weds with folly, 
or vice, has the smallest right to hope for the inesti- 
mable prize of wisdom, or virtue ? 

For many ages matrimony has been equally the 



107 

copious theme of ridicule and applause ; nor would it 
be easy to decide whether its friends or enemies in 
speaking of it, have been guilty of the greatest exag- 
gerations ; or have done most violence to the cause of 
truth. What may justly be said in its favour, is, that 
it is susceptible of much more happiness, than celiba- 
cy possibly can be. On the other hand, it may with 
equal truth be affirmed, that all the inconveniences, 
discomforts, and wretchedness of the last, are " tarts 
and cheese-cakes" (as Sancho Panza would say) com- 
pared to the miseries of married life, when accumulat- 
ed in their greatest degree. As much the largest « .pr- 
tion of these however, are of the parties own making, 
it will be their own fault, if they have to encounter 
them. Thus, for one source of unhappiness which 
can properly be called a visitation of Providence ; 
there are one hundred that flow from the temper and 
conduct of the husband and wife. It is quite enough^ 
(for example,) to destroy every thing like domestic 
comfort, peace, and happiness where either the one, 
or the other, is of a passionate, wrong-headed, tyran- 
nical disposition j and acts habitually in defiance of 
both moral, and religious law. But if both have the 
misfortune to be such characters, the place of their 
abode, resembles nothing in this world, or the next, 
but the place of the damned. Greatly then, does it 
behoove you to learn, not only how to calculate the 
chances, on the one hand, of forming such a union, 
as may bid fair to ensure all the felicity which may 
reasonably be anticipated from a marriage contracted 



108 

under the most favourable auspices ; but also how to 
estimate the danger, on the other hand, of one which 
prudence, and common sense, and good-morals, and 
religion — all forbid. Although it be as true as the 
gospel, that there are many more blanks than prizes in 
this lottery of matrimony, yet such is the sanguine incre- 
dulity of most young persons, that no warning which 
mortal man can give, seems sufficient to assure them 
of the fact. Still, as much of your happiness in this 
life certainly ; and of that in the life to come, probably 
depends upon the choice you will make in this all-im- 
portant event, 1 will not forbear, merely because so 
many other monitors have failed, to suggest to you 
every consideration which appears to me likely to 
have the smallest influence in giving that choice a pro- 
per direction. 

The married state to be a happy one, should never 
be precipitately entered. It should always be with pa- 
rental approbation on both sides ; notwithstanding 
the moral code of some favourite romances and novels 
dispenses with this preliminary in so many cases, as 
almost to convert the exceptions into the general rule. 
Good temper, or the power of completely governing 
it, and good morals, with a decided personal prefer- 
ence, should be the indispensable basis of this union. 
Cheerfulness is another pre-requisite of no small im- 
portance. In fact, matrimony without it, is but a 
wearisome pilgrimage; and if cursed with ill-temper, 
it is the poisoned shirt of Nessus, from the perpetual 



109 

torment, and distraction of which, there is no refuge 
for the wretched wearer, but in death. Above all 
things you should avoid the too common practice of ex- 
pecting to find in real life, the same kind of charac- 
ters so often delineated as heroes in the silly fictions 
which distract the minds of so many of your sex. 
Man at best, is but a very imperfect animal ; and the 
more you see and know of him, the greater allow- 
ances you will be compelled to make for his defects, 
his frailties, and his vices. The knowledge of this 
fact, and the proper application of it before marriage, 
would save many a bitter pang, and hysterical fit af- 
terwards. It is of the greatest possible importance 
therefore, that you should early learn to moderate 
the sanguine hopes so natural to youth, in regard to 
their future prospects in life ; to descend from the stilts 
on which your ardent imaginations are so prone to 
mount you, — like a parcel of tragedy-queens who look 
at their present state of existence as a continued scene 
of sublimated enjoyment, or indescribable wretched- 
ness ; and to take a plain, common-sense view of your 
probable condition. The first step necessary in order 
to acquire the power of doing so, is always to bear it 
in mind, that you yourselves are liable to the same, or 
equivalent deficiencies of character, for which equal 
allowances must be made by whomsoever you may 
marry. Another great help towards gaining this most 
essential self-knowledge, would be, always to turn a 
deaf ear to any man who would try to persuade you, that 
such frail bipeds as yourselves, are really angels and 



110 



bfl 



goddesses. Should it ever be your misfortune to be 
obliged to listen to such language, you will never err 
in considering it, either the senseless rant of some de- 
mented boy who does not know you ; or the disgust- 
ing folly of some dotard, who had belter be thinking 
of his grave ; or the contemptuous ridicule of one who 
means to laugh at you, as so many silly dolls, destitute 
of understanding. 

The great desiderata necessary to constitute suita- 
ble outfits for married life, are a tolerably good un- 
derstanding, moderation, forbearance, goodness of 
heart, self-controul, and incorruptible morals. These 
are really worth the whole mass of those showy quali- 
fications, usually called accomplishments, with all 
the advantages of person and fortune put together. It 
would certainly be most desirable that all should be 
found united ; but this coincidence so rarely occurs, 
that it would be madness in the extreme for each ad- 
venturer in matrimony to calculate on drawing such a 
prize. 

In addressing you on this subject, it is painful to 
think, that a regard for truth, should compel me to use 
a language so different from that of a great majority of 
those books, which most young people, — and indeed too 
many old ones, are so fond of perusing. But the ob- 
ject of their authors being very dissimilar to mine, our 
course must also be unlike. Their province is chiefly 
to tickle your fancies, and delight your imaginations 



Ill 



by fascinating, but exaggerated pictures of friendship, 
love, and marriage : mine is the far less grateful task 
of warning and guarding you against the shoals and 
quick-sands which lay thickly spread along the whole 
ocean of life, over the great expanse of whose waters, 
few, — very few ever sail without frequent exposure to 
the peril of storms, tornados, and shipwreck. Should 
I so far succeed, as to produce conviction on a single 
mind, that my cautions are worthy of attention : — should 
1 have power to deter even one from venturing within 
the verge of that giddy whirlpool of folly which irre- 
vocably swallows up all who have the temerity to pass 
the edge of its destructive vortex : — should 1 be able 
to save a single victim from the misery of disregarding 
all those admonitory precepts relative to the conduct 
of human beings as moral agents, which so many 
writers in every age, have appeared to reiterate to lit- 
tle, or no good purpose ; I shall deem myself amply 
rewarded for every possible exertion which I either 
have made, or can make, towards the attainment of so 
glorious an end. But to return to my principal sub- 
ject. 



As I have endeavoured to convince you, that to ren- 
der the married life even tolerably comfortable, quali- 
ties for use, rather than for show, should always be 
preferred, where both cannot be found united ; 1 fliust 
on the same principle, notice some very essential ones 
not yet enumerated. These are, personal courage to 
protect you from danger; indefatigable industry to 



112 

provide, and a prudent economy to take care of the 
means necessary for comfortable subsistence. The 
two last are particularly important ; because their ex- 
ercise is a matter of daily necessity ; — no fortune, 
however enormous, being sufficient to withstand the 
waste of continual neglect and profusion. Without 
these qualities, you may possibly, enjoy a few months, 
perhaps years of thoughtless, empty pleasure, (as it is 
most falsely called,) in which intellect has little or no 
concern ; and which has about an equal right with 
the delirium of intoxication, to be called happiness. 
But should you have long life, you must calculate 
with absolute certainty on many, — many years of dis- 
content, repining, poverty, and wretchedness, aggra- 
vated probably, by mutual upbraiding and reproach. 

Among the numerous causes which mar the felicity 
of wedlock I must not omit one of the most common, 
as well as the least excusable of all : — 1 mean the 
petty, truly contemptible squabbles and quarrels 
about prerogative. In other words, the very unpro- 
fitable contest to prove, (as 'tis vulgarly said,) whe- 
ther or not " the grey mare is the better horse." Of 
all the follies which married people can possibly com- 
mit, this is by far the greatest ; for both must be losers 
no matter who gains the victory. The principle of 
fear and dread is substituted for that of mutual confi- 
dence ; and domestic comfort and happiness are sa- 
crificed for the paltry consideration of being able to 
say : " I am master, or J am mistress, 11 If the wife 



113 

gets the belter, she fails to elevate herself in the opin- 
ion either of her own sex, or ours ; at the same time 
that she degrades her husband in the eyes of all. He, 
poor devil, from the perpetual consciousness of the 
predicament in which he stands, and of the nuts 
which he always furnishes for the sisterhood of gos- 
sips, sneaks about like a dog after committing some 
theft, for which he expects to be soundly whipt. He 
is even in a much worse situation than a public func- 
tionary who holds his post " during good behaviour." 
For although his office of husband, — legally consi- 
dered, is held by a somewhat more durable tenure ; 
yet the privilege usually appurtenant thereto, of re- 
maining in his own house, sitting at his own table, 
and by his own fire-side in peace and quietness, rests 
on a much more precarious dependence :—to wit, the 
whim, caprice, and unaccountable, ever-changing hu- 
mours of a — shrew. As you hope for happiness in 
this life, I warn you, my young friends, never to aspire 
to such distinction ; but be content, when you marry, 
to let the chief controul of family concerns remain 
where the laws both of God and man have placed it. 
No controversy on this subject need ever occur, for 
none will ever be necessary, if both parties will only 
study to please ; and mutually endeavour to promote 
each other's enjoyments. 

I cannot, I believe, conclude this lecture better, than 
by making it my last admonition, most earnestly to 
dissuade you from ever adopting a course of conduct 
10 



114 






which many of your sex appear to think— at least 
justifiable, if not altogether praise-worthy, before mar- 
riage. It has been glossed over by the very specious 
term coquetry ; but stripped of all disguise, it is nei- 
ther more, nor less, than an artful mixture of hypo- 
crisy, fraud, treachery, and falsehood : — far more dis- 
graceful to those who practice it, than degrading to 
the individuals practised upon. Should an honoura- 
ble declaration of love ever be made to you, nothing 
can palliate an attempt at deception on your part. A 
plain question propounded in truth and sincerity of 
heart, always deserves an equally sincere, and plain 
answer. Nor does it matter in the smallest degree, 
what may be the character and condition of the gen- 
tleman addressing you, — if it be such as to authorize 
his being heard at all ; — the truly honourable course 
for the lady addressed, is the direct, straight forward, 
unequivocal one, of acceptance, or rejection. Let it be 
done, (if you please,) with all the bashfulness, and timi- 
dity, and thankfulness for good opinion, &c. &c. which 
the books prescribe, as the genuine etiquette upon 
such embarrassing occasions ; but at the same time, 
with all the candour, and singleness of heart due to 
the sacred cause of truth, and good faith. It never 
waS) nor can be right on any occasion whatever, — much 
less on one which may involve both present, and fu- 
ture happiness or misery, to practise duplicity : — to 
say one thing, and mean another: — to act as, if you 
meant to trust, and wished to be trusted, when your 
sole purpose is first to inveigle, — then to betray, and 



115 

finally to abandon the deceived object of so much cri- 
minal artifice. But let those who cannot be persuad- 
ed to avoid such conduci from principle, listen to a few 
reasons which may be urged in favour of its avoid- 
ance, as a matter of policy. They may rest assured, 
that there are among our sex, a sufficient number of 
adepts in these villainous arts, (for they deserve no bet- 
ter name,) to retaliate with compound interest, alt the 
injuries which yours can possibly inflict in this way ; 
and nothing will sooner provoke the diabolical dis- 
position to perpetrate them, than any manifestation on 
your part, of an inclination to play the coquette. Be- 
ware then, for heaverfs salce, beware, my yet innocent 
young friends, how you venture on so perilous a game. 
Do not, — Oh ! do not yield to the smallest temptation 
thus to sport with your happiness under the illusory, 
and wofully deceptive notion, that such indulgence, 
(should it indeed appear one,) may be taken in the 
vernal season of youth, without the imminent hazard 
of blasting forever, all the fair prospects of the sum- 
mer, autumn, and winter of your lives, 

Should it be the lot of all who now hear me, to reach 
the period of mature age, but a few years — (compara- 
tively speaking) remain, even to the youngest, before 
that period will be at hand. To each, it will be the 
great scene of trial and of duty ; and upon your- 
selves chiefly it must depend,^after all that others can 
do for you, whether this scene will prove a voyage of 
delightful discovery and pleasurable occupation ; or a 



116 






toilsome pilgrimage beset with difficulties, danger?, 
and disappointments, — commencing in feverish dis- 
quietudes, and ending in misery and wo. Death it- 
self is not more inevitable, than such a destiny to all 
who despise the warning voice of instruction ; who 
practise no self restraint : who seek no intellectual im- 
provement; — who fail to cherish continually the love 
of wisdom, and of virtue, as their surest friend both for 
time and eternitv. 



<t 



RECAPITULATION AND CONCLUSION. 



THE Lectures on Education which I promised you, 
my young friends, some time ago, are at last finished 
All that now remains for me to do, is to recall to your 
minds the substance of what has been said ; and to 
endeavour by a brief recapitulation, so to impress the 
chief topicks on your hearts, that they may have an 
abiding influence on your lives. May God grant me 
the power of doing this to the extent of my wishes : 
for never then, will any of you be destitute,— wherever 
your lot may be cast, of any of the resources of "mind, 
body, or estate" essential to your enjoyment in this 
world, or to your happiness in the next. 

As there are some among you whom I shall address 
for the last time in our lives, I most earnestly hope 
that they at least, will feel the same anxiety to receive, 
that I do to impart, whatever benefit my farewell ad- 
monitions may be capable of communicating. This 
request, I solemnly assure you, is not lightly made, 
as mere words of course. It is uttered under the in- 
fluence of a sentiment of deep solicitude for your tei 
10* 



118 



poral and eternal welfare, inspired by the reflection 
that the all-important trust of your education has bee 
confided, for a considerable time past, to those to who 
I am bound by all the strongest ties which can unite 
human beings together; and with whom I have felt, 
and still feel a deep common interest in promoting 
your happiness. For your own sakes then, as well as 
for ours, and for the love of all who are most endear- 
ed to you in this world, let me beseech you not to suf- 
fer this last appeal to be made in vain. But a few mi- 
nutes will be occupied in uttering it; and only a few, 
fleeting hours can pass away, before most of us must 
part, and some — probably forever. 

It will be recollected, 1 trust, that my first object 
was, to convince you that the basis of all excellence 
was, to live under the constant conviction of the moral 
and religious obligation to improve our time, as much 
as possible ; to neglect none of the faculties which an 
infinitely wise and benevolent God has given us, — 
manifestly for the purpose of cultivating them to their 
highest degree of attainable perfection ; — which de- 
gree he has evidently left indefinite, that our exer- 
tions to reach it, should never cease but with life: and 
to exercise continually, the chief of these faculties — 
our reason, in selecting and applying the best means 
in our power for the accomplishment of this all-im- 
portant end. Can it be necessary to urge any other 
arguments, than those heretofore used, to prove to 
you, that this duty of moral, and religious improve- 



n 

m 



119 

mentis paramount to all others? Unless this be first 
fulfilled, is it not evident to every one, that the gift of 
rationality itself, must prove our heaviest curse, in- 
stead of our greatest blessing ? For does it not compel 
us to believe, that the all-wise God who made us, could 
have bestowed this inestimable boon for no other pur- 
pose, than to enable us clearly to discern that happi- 
piness was to be found in no other path, but the path of 
duty ; and of course, that whenever we depart from it; 
whenever we act in opposition to the dictates of that rea- 
son bestowed for our guidance therein, we convict our- 
selves of the most criminal rebellion against the adora- 
ble giver of the benefaction? We cannot open our eyes 
upon a single object of the universe ; nor contemplate 
for a moment, any of those ways of Providence which 
we are capable of understanding, without being in- 
stantly struck with the persuasion, that a God of wis- 
dom, of mere)', and of love, — such as we believe our 
God to be, must have willed the happiness of all his 
creatures : and that so far as we come under this ge- 
neral dispensation, we are bound by every possible 
motive that can bind the Creature to the Creator, not 
only not to counteract by disobedience, such universal 
benevolence, but to do every thing in our power to ac- 
complish, as co-workers with the Lord and Father of all, 
his magnificent and truly Godlike design. But could 
we be guilty of any greater act of disobedience or 
counteraction ; could we commit any greater outrage 
against omnipotence, (unless by the perpetration of 
some heinous crime,) than by habitually devoting our 



. 






120 

"piiiost precious time to utter idleness ; — to frivolous oc- 
cupations ; — to selfish and sensual indigencies ? Sure- 
ly nothing could be more opposite to the great pur- 
poses for which we were evidently created ; — nothing 
more disgraceful to our nature ; — nothing more re- 
pugnant to the course which reason, and duty, and 
conscience point out. For heaven sake then, my 
young friends, cherish, improve, and forever hold fast 
the belief in the absolute necessity of your moral and 
religious obligations to the continual culture of all 
your faculties, as the foundation of every scheme 
which you may form for your future lives. Let this 
belief be your constant guide through all time, and 
the great beacon, the polar star, which is to direct 
your steps to the regions of eternity. 

The means which I have endeavoured to point out, 
as essential to the fulfilment of the foregoing observa- 
tions, you may perhaps remember ; but lest you should 
not recollect them, as thoroughly as I wish, J will 
once more present them to your view. These were, a 
constant readiness to follow the directions, and obey 
the injunctions of those whom you believe qualified to 
advise, and prescribe the course which you should pur- 
sue in your education : to neglect none of the modes 
placed before you for facilitating the progress of your 
studies ; — to read diligently and indefatigable : — to 
seek the conversation of persons better informed than 
yourselves, rather than those who could give you no 
useful information : — to devote no more time to amuse- 



121 

merits, than is sufficient for relaxation and health : — al- 
ways to aspire to moral and intellectual excellence, with- 
out the slightest jealousy or ^nvy of those engaged iir 
similar pursuits : — never to procrastinate, nor go in- 
dolently, nor reluctantly to work in the discharge of 
any duty whatever : and to pray with fervent sinceri- 
ty for heavenly aid in all your undertakings. If you 
will assiduously follow these injunctions, and faithful- 
ly carry them into constant practice, you will as cer- 
tainly succeed, as that you have life, in securing the 
love and affection of every one connected with you ; — - 
the inestimable approbation of your own conscience; — 
and a " mansion of rest" among the wise and the 
good in the world to come. 

Temper and deportment were the next topicks, in 
the due consideration of which 1 endeavoured to in- 
terest you. And it was my earnest effort to convince 
you, that without a proper regulation and command of 
the first ; and a strict, as well as constant attention to 
the second ; all attempts at education amount to no- 
thing better, than a shameful, and wicked waste of 
time and money. Will you permit me to hope that I 
have succeeded in producing this conviction ? Or am 
I to suffer the mortification of uttering' this farewell 
address under the painful disappointment of all my 
anxious wishes on this deeply interesting subject ? 
Shall our inviolable regard for truth compel us, in 
restoring any of you to your parents, to communicate 
the heart-rending intelligence that all their anxious 



122 






hours, their cares, their labours, and their prayers for 
the welfare of their children are likely to prove abor- 
tive ; because they have been equally deaf to friendly 
admonition, and earnest reproof? Must ours be the 
distressing duty of blasting the fond anticipations of 
parental love, by informing them, that all the bad 
passions, and evil dispositions which they anxiously 
hoped to find removed by a course of moral, and lite- 
rary instruction ; instead of being entirely subdued, 
had only grown with the growth, and strengthened with 
the strength of the children of their bosom . ? Or will 
you authorize us to be the delighted " messengers only 
of glad tidings ?" Has your general conduct been 
such, as to justify us in saying to each parent ; — 
" here, my friend, receive from our hands the child of 
your love ; — take her to your arms, and wear her next 
your heart } for she has amply fulfilled all your ex- 
pectations. She has " fought the good fight;" — she 
has conquered whatever was amiss both in her temper 
and deportment ;— she has seen her errors, and firmly 
resolved to depart from them. She is now, anxiously 
desirous, and resolutely determined to reward all your 
cares, your love, and your affection by devoting her- 
self to your happiness for the remainder of your days." 
Contrast, I beseech you, — contrast the feelings of all 
the parties concerned, upon the final separation which 
must take place between us, when you quit this school 
for the last time, and then ask your hearts, which part 
you will leave to us to perform ? For rely on it, that 
our report to your parents, or other friends, must be to 



123 

the very letter, the one, or the other, according as you 
have conducted yourselves during your residence with 
us. Your own recollections must remind you how 
often this event of severance between your teachers, 
and yourselves, and restoration to your homes, has 
been presented to your imaginations. Nor can you 
have forgotten how frequently you have been intreat- 
ed so to act your part ;*— so to fulfil all your duties, 
that the only remaining duty we should have to per- 
form, might be to testify with unalloyed pleasure, how 
well you have merited all the caresses and endear- 
ments prepared for you in the several domestic circles 
of which you are once more to become members. 
Oh ! that you would yet give some pledge, (if you 
have not already done so,) upon the faith of which 
we might assure those who may come for you, that the 
fondest hopes of your relatives and friends are ac- 
complished. Save us, we implore you, from the in 
expressibly painful alternative of suppressing the 
truth, of which we cannot be guilty ; or of communi- 
cating the heart-piercing fact, that all these hopes 
have been blighted and lost ! 



If any of you, really have had bad tempers, and 
have strenuously exerted yourselves to subdue them ; 
if your deportment has been, only occasionally repre- 
hensible, while you have manifestly endeavoured ge- 
nerally, to render it what it should be, — the deport- 
ment of a lady in principle, as well as conduct; we 
shall take the greatest pleasure in representing the fact 




124 






to the friends or connexions who may come to take 
you home. On the contrary, — if no effectual attempt 
has been made to acquire self-controul ; — if bad pas* 
sions have been indulged without restraint ; — if little, 
or no regard to lady-like conduct and demeanour, has 
been manifested, except in short and fleeting promis- 
es of amendment, — why, painful as the task may be, 
we shall not hesitate to perform it. Your parents, and 
other relatives must be informed, at whatever cost of 
feelings to them and to us, that their money, and their 
care, their labours, and their love, have been equally 
thrown away, with our lessons, and our advice, our 
persuasions and our reproofs. Heaven forbid, that 
the latter duty should be ours; but it will depend en- 
tirely upon yourselves, whether it will, or not. If it 
be your choice, rather to break a parent's heart, than 
to prove their comfort and delight while living, and the 
last, the most beloved objects of their dying benedic- 
tions, — thus it must be ; on your own heads will rest 
all the sin ; in your own bosoms will be all the agony, 
when no near connexion, — no dear friewd shall be left 
to, witness your degradation, and deplore your guilt. 

The foibles, faults, and vices of your sex; were the 
next defects of character against which I undertook to 
warn you. How far 1 have succeeded, your own hearts 
must say. For although I should require no better 
evidence, than my own senses to satisfy me in regard 
to the diminution, or increase of those defects which 
show themselves in conversation, and general con- 



125 

duct, — such as idleness, inattention to your studies, 
passionate and quarrelsome dispositions ; coarse, rude, 
and unlady-like conversation ; boisterous, vulgar and 
indecorous deportment ; yet there are many others, 
still more censurable ; such as pride, vanity, selfish- 
ness, extravagance, envy, hatred, malice and uncha- 
ritableness, which can be known in all their native de- 
formity, only to those who have the misfortune to la- 
bour under them. Where these have free scope, they 
rarely fail to do some injury to the objects of them ; and 
they invariably inflict much suffering, and often misery 
on the agents themselves. How far you have guard- 
ed against these deadly enemies to your peace and hap- 
piness, is a matter which you must answer to your 
own consciences, and to your God. If you have yield- 
ed without effort to their influence; if you have suffer- 
ed them to corrupt your principles, and poison your 
hearts, it will not be for the want of abundant warn- 
ing, and timely importunities on our part, to avoid, — 
if you had them not, and to resist and conquer them, 
if you had. What earthly advantage could you pro- 
mise yourselves from their indulgence? What pos- 
sible benefit could you hope for, by giving way to 
their impulses ? you might, perchance, gratify some 
feeling which you would be ashamed to acknowledge ; — 
you might perhaps, give pain to others, and impart a 
malignant, diabolical gratification to yourselves ; but 
to expect from so corrupt a source, any such pleasure, 
as would be worthy of a rational and moral agent, 
would be to calculate on inhaling aromatic odours from 
11 



126 

a carcase in the last stage of deeay ; and upon convert- 
ing the hellish deformity of vice, into the heavenly 
beauty of virtue. Remember then, — for the love of your 
own souls, remember, my dear young friends, that you 
cannot possibly exercise too much vigilance in guard- 
ing against the most distant approaches of every foi- 
ble, fault, and vice, against which I have endeavour- 
ed to guard you. Yield yourselves io no one of them ; 
for such is the close connexion between them, that you 
will be in continual danger of having the whole fami- 
ly quartered on you for life, to prey upon your very 
vitals, until you are consumed both body and soul. 
On the other hand, deny yourself at home to the first 
intruder, and you will daily be in less and less peril 
from such dangerous visitors. 

The subjects of manners, accomplishments, and 
conversation came next in the order of these lectures: 
and much was said on each which I trust you will not 
soon forget. On the first will greatly depend the 
good, or ill reception you will meet with in society. 
Like music, they may well be said to have " charms 
to soothe the savage breast." If they are such, as 
should distinguish every lady ; and without which in- 
deed, none can pretend to that character; it will be no 
easy matter to prescribe limits to your influence ; for 
good manners exercise almost a despotic controul over 
all mankind. But should they be such as every lady 
would be ashamed of; — neglect, and degradation, and 
scorn, and avoidance must inevitably be your portion : 



127 

as well as the just reward of your contempt of public 
opinion. With respect to accomplishments, general- 
ly so called, I have said that you should consider them, 
as nothing more than conventional passports to good 
society ; — not absolutely necessary, but useful to pos- 
sess : That you should devote to their acquirement, 
only such a portion of your time, as would make them 
rather recreations, than labours : and that some should 
not be attempted at all, without a decided talent for 
them : such, for example, as drawing, painting, and 
music. If you can restrain yourselves within these 
limits in your endeavours to attain them ; 1 take the 
liberty to say, that there is nothing, — either in mo- 
lality, or religion, which forbids their acquisition. But 
beware not to make a business of what should be, on- 
ly your occasional pleasure. Beware, lest you devote 
to the training and disciplining of your limbs, any 
part of that precious period, which should be occu- 
pied solely, in the improvement of your immortal souls. 
Ever remember that " there is a time for all things :"<—■ 
and that no encroachment should be made by the re- 
quirements of the body, on that portion properly as- 
signed to the wants of the intellect. 

The topick on which I last endeavoured to give you 
some salutary lessons, was the highly important and 
interesting one of associates, friends, and connexions. 
And it was then, as it still is, my most earnest wish to 
impress your minds with the fixed belief, that your 
happiness both in this life, and the next, very niateri- 



128 

ally depends upon the kind of choice you may make 
in selecting them. Should they be persons of amia- 
ble dispositions, good sense, cultivated understandings, 
and pure morals, you may reasonably calculate on 
realizing all the enjoyments which can be derived 
from social intercourse in all its various relations of 
casual acquaintance, well tried friendship, and wed- 
ded love. But if you entirely disregard all moral 
and intellectual qualifications ; and are guided by no- 
thing better than, whim, caprice, or accidental liking 
in your choice either of companions, friends, or nearer 
connexions ; you cannot possibly escape all the usual 
consequences of such folly. These are, — ruin of 
fame, fortune, and peace of mind in very many cases ; 
and much disappointment, mortification, or suffering 
in all. "The same tree cannot produce both good 
fruit and bad :" — the same fountain can never yield 
sweet and bitter waters, at the same time. 

Let your reason and judgment then, ever direct you 
more than your feelings, in the choice both of your 
temporary companions, and of those with whom you 
expect to spend the greater part of your lives. Still 
your hopes may possibly, be frustrated ; for all human 
calculations are liable to error : but the strong pro- 
bability is, that they will be attained to the full extent 
of all rational expectation, if you will not only strive 
sincerely and earnestly to render your own tempers, 
manners, morals and intellectual acquirements such as 
they should be ; but will seek similar qualifications in 



129 

all those with whom you calculate on maintaining any 
permanent intercourse. 

My task is finished, and the hour is at hand, when 
we must part ; — many of us probably, to meet no 
more on this side the grave. All that now remains to 
be done, is, to inquire whether you will suffer us, your 
very sincere friends, to bid you a last adieu, under the 
full persuasion, that you have treasured up for future 
use, all the good advice, and all the knowledge which 
your teachers have endeavoured without ceasing, to 
impress on your minds. Do not, — Oh ! do not leave us 
in doubt, either as to the sincerity of your promises, — 
the firmness of your resolves, or the power of your 
wills to realize the anxious hopes, and fond anticipa- 
tions of your parents and friends in regard to your 
future conduct and characters in life. For pity sake, 
embitter not the remainder of their days, by any neg- 
lect of duty on your part ; nor blast those delightful 
expectations which they have so long, and so tender- 
ly cherished of your future worth, by shewing that 
you have equally abused their confidence ; despised 
their admonitions; and utterly wasted the best portion 
of that precious period allotted to mental culture, 
which when once lost, can never be recalled. But 
continue, I beseech and implore you, for the last time, 
to improve both your hearts and understandings by 
the acquisition of all the amiable qualities, and esti- 
mable endowments which can adorn the one, or em- 
bellish the other. Let this be your continual aim ;— 



130 

let this be your unceasing pursuit ; — for such is the 
imperative command, — the irreversible decree of God 
himself. And instead of the giddy, thoughtless, idle 
nothings, which but too many of your sex turn out, 
after leaving school ; you may prove, during life, the 
pride, the ornament, and blessings of society, — be- 
loved and esteemed by all who know you : — and when 
you die, you will have every reasonable hope of find- 
ing favour with that ever merciful and omnipotent 
God, who hath promised unutterable bliss "to all 
who do his will on earth, as it is in heaven." 

May the Lord, and father of us all, grant to each 
of you the will, as well as the power to realize such a 
destiny, both here and hereafter. 

Elm-Wood, Essex County, Virginia. 



ERRATA. 

:20th page 13th line, put the words " but little better than nui- 
sauces" within a parenthesis. 

27th page 9th line from the bottom, read «« are" for " is". 

34th do. 9th line from the top, place a colon instead of a period. 

39th do. 3d line from the top, read « those" for " these". 

44th do. 13th line from the top, after the word manner, place 
a comma instead of a semi colon ; and in the 14th line place 
a semi colon after the words " fancied superiority". 

59th page 3d line from the bottom erase " who." 

61st do. 3d line from the top, after " victory" substitute a hy- 
phen for a comma. 

66th page, 9th line from the bottom, insert "and" before 
"never". 

72d page 3d line from the bottom, insert " which" before " con- 
tribute" 

76th page 9th line from the bottom place a semi-colon after 
" cherished" 

78th page last line read " passable" for " passible"- 

81st do. 13th line from the bottom, place a comma instead of 
a semi -colon. 

94th page 17th line from the top, the words "angelinas and 
amaryllises" should have capital letters at the beginning. 

95th page 7th line from the bottom, read " Bouk-muslins" for 

" book-muslins". 



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